Boathouse
by loutzy
Summary: Maybe, for once in her dull, sad life, he wanted her to react to him. He wanted her to cuss him out and tell him he's worthless just as he told her countless times throughout the past five years. He wanted her to tell him he's pathetic, to go to hell and to fucking rot there. He wanted more reason to hate her than just her blood. M for language, sexual content, and torture.
1. Mudblood

_Disclaimer: The author of this piece of fiction does not, in any way, profit from the story. All creative rights of the characters belong to the original creator, J.K. Rowling/Robert Galbraith. The plot and written works is copyright of writer Loutzy. All else belongs to their rightful owners. Any potential brand, name, or anything else belongs to their rightful owners._

I would like to say a grand thank you to OLHV, the BETA for this story. He's a wonderful writer, and his new story is now available; a story I will be BETAing. Look out for it – Gravity Rises.

Welcome to my little world.

* * *

 **Mudblood**

Hermione huffed, drawing her hand up to brush a piece of unruly hair away from her face and behind her ear with her delicate fingers. It had been exactly two weeks since the Start-of-Term feast, meaning about six weeks since she had first reunited with her two best friends. Meaning she had about a week's amount of time to get settled into her new living space with two other Gryffindor six-year girls and still, there she was, softly folding her robes and placing them into the worn down drawers that had become so familiar to her these past few years.

All because she decided she wanted to find the comfort of home by doing it the 'muggle' way.

It had been a small yearly tradition of Hermione's to give herself one final breather, one final adieu to home, by unpacking her belongings without the use of magic – whether it would take her hours, days, or even weeks. This was her reminder that no matter how big-headed she may get, being called the brightest witch of her age or acing all classes, she is and always will be a Granger. And she took pride in that.

Despite what the wizarding world might indoctrinate about muggles and muggle-borns, Hermione felt pride wash over her whenever her thoughts moved to her status of being muggle-born. She found pride in the fact that she had to work twice as hard as most to get to where she is now – at the top of all her classes and readying herself for a life of achievement; if the world around her would let her. She was ecstatic to throw prejudices about her back into the faces of those that let words like 'mudblood' leave their mouths. She was intelligent, an activist, and knew that these traits of hers effected others.

And she marvelled in it.

But this didn't mean that she was happy with herself for letting a whole _week_ pass her by and still have clothes to fold and put away. She _was_ the brightest witch, was she not? Then why hasn't she come up with a more efficient way to do this without using magic?

Sighing with exhaustion, she finished folding another robe and closed the drawers, giving herself a well-deserved stretch. Her stomach made itself known, a reminder that it was probably time to go downstairs for dinner and to discuss just what Harry had heard Malfoy discussing with his fellow Slytherin house members on the train ride to Hogwarts.

 _Malfoy_. Where the hell was he?

Hermione gracefully got to her feet and started heading herself in the direction of food. Malfoy was a boy who had made himself apparent in her life since the moment she stepped foot into Hogwarts despite her lack of wanting him there. Hermione found herself remembering a moment when her fist had collided, very purposely, with his jaw. She had felt just how hard she punched him, and that moment felt defining for her in a way. She finally stood up for herself in an aggressive way. She stood up for her friends.

Still, she couldn't help but wonder how he could have disappeared if he was on the train. She missed him at the Great Feast, and knew she shared multiple classes with him, yet the blubbering idiot had clearly skipped out on every class. She knew he could be stupid, but this was just bizarre.

Walking down the Grand Staircase in order to get to the dining hall, she noticed a portrait of one Percival Pratt that had been taken down the previous year. A fine wizard, he was. A poet.

She wondered why.

* * *

Draco glared at the bright room and it's many windows. For a place to gain privacy, it sure as hell made him feel like a caged animal being watched intently by children at a zoo.

What once was an underground harbour for incoming boats was now a radiant, yet somehow shadowy place to rest. The entrance to the lake was closed off for the rest of the year, giving space for floors and furniture to be put down. The small boathouse allowed only enough room for a closed off bathroom, a small bedroom, and a space for a deep green sofa, a coffee table, and a bookshelf.

No other forms of entertainment, not even a kitchenette so he can eat in peace without having to visit the Great bloody Hall, where only questions await him.

"You must have _really_ put effort into ensuring my sanity to come up with this place," he mumbled to his old professor, walking over to the bookshelf to examine its contents. Books on Hexes, and Arithmetics, beasts and unforgivable curses covered every inch of shelving. Not even _one_ book for pure entertainment, for pleasure's purpose. Draco grimaced and turned to look at the rest of the room, a scowl darkening his features. Eyeing Draco, Snape shook his head and turned to leave.

"Time is of the essence and I am not willing to waste anymore on you. Either you accept the safe house I have given you or you make my task at hand just that much more difficult. And my task is keeping you alive. Do you understand me?"

Draco scoffed, eyes narrowing at the demanding tone in his Godfather's voice. He could simply walk away and tell him to fuck off and mind his own business. He never asked for Snape's help anyways – why the hell should he care? He was never asked when his Aunt Bellatrix demanded Snape to provide his arm for the start of this unbreakable vow, and if he had been told, he would've put a stop to such nonsense immediately. He was forced into this – he was the victim. He could easily turn away from all of this and never look back.

But he knew he could only be fooling himself with these painless thoughts.

Snape quickly grew impatient waiting for a proper response from his apprentice, "Malfoy, I won't ask again."

Rolling his eyes and throwing himself on the green couch, Draco condescendingly responded, "As you wish, my Dark Lord."

Lowering his stare to Draco once again, Snape's voice dropped to snap at Draco, "You will watch your tongue."

Draco had to bite his inner cheeks to stop himself from responding. The tired professor turned, leaving the room – leaving Draco in his demanding solitude.

The only thing of interest in the room suddenly caught Draco's eye. A portrait that had been taken down the year before of Percival Pratt, a famous poet, was hung on one of the walls adjacent to the bookshelf. The only person to keep him company was a dead rhymer. Bloody fucking brilliant.

It had been time since Draco had eaten with his housemates. He somewhat missed the company of fellow Slytherins Zabini and Theodore, and he felt at least a bit peckish knowing that it had been over twenty-four hours since the last time he had put anything in his mouth.

If Snape was supposed to be keeping him alive, he was doing a pretty foul job at it.

Draco suddenly hissed at a burning sensation on his left arm. He pulled his sleeve up to look at the damage the dark mark was doing to his body and what he saw did not please him.

To say in the least, his body was rejecting the mark placed on his arm almost unwillingly. As much as Draco wanted to follow in the footsteps of his father and carry on the Malfoy name in aristocratic pride, he could help but fear for his life when taking that mark upon his body. As much as Draco despised the Gryffindor house, he couldn't help but envy their courage in almost every scenario. He always was a fearful boy.

As a child, fear clouded his choices. He feared his father, feared how he would be treated by others, feared the world he had been placed in and the principles that had been shoved onto him by his family members. They were a family of standards, and those standards were founded in their blood.

And now, nearing adulthood, he still hadn't found the courage to turn against his fears. He feared for his life. Feared for his family's lives. Feared for what he will be asked to do. Feared for letting down his father. Fear had tracked him down, put a potato sack over his head, and buried him alive. Maybe that's why they thought of him as a good candidate to follow the Dark Lord and his wishes.

Maybe that's why they wanted him to kill Albus Dumbledore.

He shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside and quickly pulling down his sleeve. Now was not the time to contemplate what he had been asked to do. Though, his arm still burned to the touch, weeks after he had submitted himself to the retrieval of that mark. He wondered whether or not Voldemort knew he had taken it almost unwillingly – if he could sense these things.

His stomach sounded for a second time and he groaned. He remembered Snape telling him that whenever he was ready, he could rejoin his classmates and act as though nothing has changed. He had to keep up appearances now more than ever in order to seem… _normal_. At least, as normal as he had been in the past.

These last few weeks were sickly to Draco. It was within that time that Voldemort was brought into his childhood home and made him into this… _thing_. The burning sensation quickly started again under the fabrics of his clothing and he forced himself not to touch it. He could never look back to the Manor as a home again. Not after the horrors that had taken place there.

Scolding himself for bringing those thoughts into the forefront of his mind, Draco instinctively reached to the pocket of his robes, ensuring his wand was within reach, and walked out of his new hell-turned-sanctuary.

* * *

Sweat laced the back of Draco's neck. He had finally made his way to the self-righteous Great Hall and found himself stopped a few steps away from the doors. Not that he had a care in the world for what others had to think about him, but Draco grew up knowing just how much appearances had to do with social standing – and he could never forgive himself if he let _them_ see him during such a weak time in his life.

Draco knew he looked different. Thinking back to his most recent bathroom break, looking in the mirror was a similar experience to pulling gauze off of a recently dried up wound. He looked ill and he knew it. His skin had become paler, if that was even possible, and he had lost some weight since the snake arse came flouncing around his home. But the thing that troubled Malfoy most of all was just how bloody _tired_ he had looked all the time. No matter how much sleep he had gotten the night before, and no matter how many vials of Dreamless Sleep he had downed, Draco found himself continuously looking more ghastly than the day before. And it was _bothering him_.

Another tug at his internal organs and _fuck_ was he hungry. Swallowing his pride and straightening his back, Malfoy walked into the Great Hall as if nothing had changed.

And in a sense, nothing _had_ changed. Looking around, he noticed Blaise glance up and lock eyes on him, elbowing Theodore Nott with a grin and pointing in my direction. Draco rolled his eyes, walking over to his classmates.

"Hasn't anyone told you it's rude to point?" Draco shot, taking a seat casually where room was quickly and obediently made. Food appeared in the plate in front of him. Theo looked up from his plate and barked a laugh.

"Hasn't anyone told you it's rude to skip every _fucking_ class, Malfoy?" Theo scolded back, but even that was hardly a scold. Theo couldn't care less about whether or not Draco attended any classes, he simply always needed to have a retort for everything. It was in his nature.

"Well, whatever happened, I'm glad you're back now," Blaise said with purest intentions, nudging Draco happily and turning back to his food. Sometimes Draco had wondered how Blaise had even been sorted into Slytherin.

Turning to the plate in front of him, Draco quickly started devouring the food that would have seemed worthless if it weren't for the fact that he was so damn hungry. He bit into every piece of chicken, attempting to savour the flavours in his mouth while feeding the hunger that had been biting away at him for hours. He was _starving_ , and right now he couldn't take out the proper time to care about how he looked to others.

As he was finishing his final bites, something felt off. A strong wave of anxiety washed over him and he discretely placed his hand on his robe pocket where his wand was being stashed. Nerves getting the better of him, he looked up to scan the large dining hall until his eyes fell onto a pair of brown eyes boring into him.

A frown crossed Draco's features when he realized he was taking part in a staring contest with one Hermione Granger.

Draco realized just how much pity he takes in her. A smart witch, the smartest of their age, who seemed to have had her fate decided for her before she was even born – for her blood had already been polluted before she had come out of the womb.

Draco's need for dominance took over and he found himself staring back at Hermione for quite some time. Enough time to realize that this _mudblood_ had admirable qualities. While she had proven herself to be a gifted student, it also looked like time had taken favour over the witch, very much unlike how much damage time had caused Draco. Within just a few months, she had matured.

The jungle she had referred to as hair had calmed down, framing her features and giving her a look uncanny to any other girl he had seen before. She was a little slenderer, a face much less baby-like and suddenly more womanly than he remembered. The only thing that seemed to remain the same were those doe eyes of hers. As much as he wished she looked like a deer caught in headlights at all times, her eyes took on a look of both wonder and wisdom at the same time.

And she was looking at Draco – making him anxious. It's not like she could know anything he was going through. She couldn't possibly have any information about him that could reveal him as a traitor to all of Hogwarts, could she? Then again, did _he_ believe he was a traitor?

He shook his head. How could he be a traitor if he was working in favour of his own blood?

"Fucking mudblood," Draco heard a growl come from Theo's mouth and quickly snapped his eyes away from Granger towards his kind. Suddenly, he felt sick.

He realized he didn't only take pity on Granger for her blood. He pitied her because of what he knew was going to happen to her soon enough. He was a Death Eater; he knew what the Dark Lord had in store in the field of cleaning the blood pool. She would be dead soon enough. That was his plan, right? Voldemort had ordered him to eliminate Dumbledore at some point and he had to follow his orders or his family would be at stake. And with one of the most powerful wizards gone Granger wouldn't stand a chance.

He felt sick because he knew what her future would bring and he felt responsible. He wanted to puke.

Blaming it on the speed at which he ate, Draco shoved his plate aside, muttered a hurried goodbye, and was on his way back to his rickety purgatory.

* * *

He looked so different; Hermione hardly would have noticed him at all if it weren't for the lack of students due to the time at which he attended dinner.

He just looked _so_ different, she almost felt worried for him.

His skin had dropped shades lighter and the skin under his eyes shades darker, enough for her to wonder whether or not he had slept in weeks. Lines tore through his features, allowing him to look much older for his actual age of merely sixteen. His face was worn and sported a drained yet eager expression, choking down his food. Had he _eaten_ in weeks?

His body stiffened and its almost as if Hermione can feel his senses heightening. He looks around the room and his gaze lands on her.

 _Shit._

As much as she'd like to prove otherwise, she can't help but notice his straight features and overall appealing look, attempting to shy away under a mask of sleepless nights. She had always known he was an aristocratically attractive boy – who didn't? He was the widely known king of Slytherin for the time being. He fit all the characteristics.

The number one characteristic he couldn't seem to get away from? He was a complete and utter _arsehole_.

She noticed Theodore turning to look at Malfoy and following his gaze to find who Malfoy had been staring at. Immediately, she recognized the word she read coming out of Theo mouth.

 _Mudblood._

His eyes quickly snap away from Hermione towards the direction of his friend and she couldn't help but feel a twinge of uneasiness when seeing Malfoy in his new state.

As hard as it is to admit, the word hurts her. Being a muggle-born isn't an issue to her at all; like she stated previously, she actually enjoyed facing those who mock her head on, the Gryffindor courage always seeming to take over. Nonetheless, the _word_ still hurt. From the first time she had heard it until now, it stung just the same.

She looked at Malfoy, waiting for the well-known smirk to cross his features and a snarky remark to mock her yet again with his pure-blood friend. It never came.

"He's a Death Eater, you know," And suddenly, Hermione finds herself repeating what she had just witnessed Malfoy do a second ago. A coughing noise was heard coming from Ron's mouth, expectorating the food he was eating to face Harry who was seated next to Hermione.

" _Who?_ " Ron asked, still with food in his mouth. He swallowed quickly and repeated his question, "Harry, who?" Harry motioned for his two best friends to come closer, just for him to confirm Hermione's suspicions.

" _Malfoy,_ " he disclosed quietly, turning to Hermione to see her reaction. There is no way in hell.

Sure, Malfoy might seem battered beyond repair to some extent, but as Hermione gave him a final look before he stalked out of the Great Hall she reasoned with herself. Someone doesn't just become a Death Eater. It's not that simple, she's sure of it.

"Not this again, Harry," she scoffed, shaking her head in disapproval, "We already went over this. I think this little house rivalry has gotten to your head - you should be careful where you place your accusations."

"Yeah, what Hermione said," Ron pipped in, leaving a small smile on Hermione's features.

Over the past few years, the feelings she had for Ron only proved themselves to be stronger. He made an effort into always making her feel safe, always taking her side, and being overall supportive to Hermione. He believed in her, and in a world trying to tear muggle-borns down, sometimes that is all one needs. But, like many friendships, Ron had his own set of troubles. He provided a lack of… cognition and overall _thought_. He hardly added much content to texturize conversations and this proved to be a hindrance on any emotions Hermione could stir up for the boy.

Oh, that and the fact that he doesn't hold the same amount of affection for her as she does for him. Yes, he might hold her in his small list of people that he will always have a devoted allegiance with, but devoted _love?_ That was a whole other quandary, and she realized that he had turned her down too many times for her to not be over him by now.

"Guys, you _have_ to listen to me," Harry almost hissed, annoyance laced in his voice. Sighing again, Hermione leans in, "That's what I heard on the train. Draco was with Blaise Zabini and a few others and was lifting his left sleeve to show them that _mark_."

A frown crossed her features. Something didn't seem right to her.

"Did you _see_ the mark, Harry?"

"No, but I-

"Did you _hear_ him say the words Death Eater, or the Dark Lord, or anything that can truly indict him for being a servant to You-Know-Who?"

"No, but Hermione-

"Than I don't know why you're letting your head fire away with accusations," She shot at Harry, who suddenly was feeling very, very small in her presence. She had a way with words, and she knew that. At times like this, she took advantage of her skills in logic and told her two best friends exactly what her thought process was.

" _Hermione,_ " Harry spoke, growing increasingly irritable, "He _stomped_ my face in."

"Well, she knows that, Harry," Ron teased again, taking Hermione's defense for a second time, "You told us Tonks fixed your nose and everything. Even your glasses were a mess. How could you lose in a fight with a ferret?"

Harry's mouth tightened and he decided he would let this conversation go for another time. Though he knew he hadn't imagined what had happened on that train, he also knew his friends wouldn't be giving up anytime soon. He turned his attention to his female best friend.

"Hermione, a question," Harry spoke up for a final time, letting his glasses fall slightly lower on the bridge of his nose to look at Hermione free of his frames, "Just why exactly are you defending Malfoy?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at her non-consanguineous brother, "Calm down, Harry, I don't have a crush," she shot him down, maintaining her level-headedness on the matter, "I'm just looking at this situation logically. You never heard him say anything, you never really _saw_ anything, so how can you be so sure? In a court of law, you would have no evidence." Harry looked down at his hands, realizing she did have a point. He decided that dropping the subject seemed like a good choice until he could possibly gain more information on the matter.

"He's acting strange though lately, isn't he?" Ron stated almost not as a question. Hermione looked at Ron quizzically, waiting to see if there was something else Ron could have picked up on about Malfoy that she hasn't realized, "He hasn't been showing up to classes, he skipped out on Quidditch try-outs, and he hasn't even been trying as a prefect."

"Ron, _you_ haven't even been trying as a prefect," Harry said pointedly, continuing, "Is it really all that strange that Malfoy has been skipping? I mean, he's a _Slytherin_."

Hermione felt herself awkwardly shift in her chair. Yes, it _was_ strange that Malfoy was skipping and acting out against the school in such a way. Malfoy might be an arsehole, but he certainly wasn't stupid. In passing, she had noticed his interest in certain literatures and the electives he chose were always high in workload. She only knew this due to the fact that those electives always seemed to be the ones she chose, too, in order to get an upper hand and more wide knowledge on how to use her skills. She had placed herself in all advanced courses that she could and noticed that every year, without fail, there he was – haunting her every footstep in this school.

And anyways, if you aren't liked by many teachers in the school, the only way to _become_ a prefect was if you had high grades. And Hermione had a hunch that Malfoy was not one to suck up.

"Well, he's a fucking nitwit, he is," Ron harshly belittled his house-enemy, turning back to his food.

Suddenly, Hermione didn't feel so hungry. She finished up as much as she could and turned to her friends to say a soft goodbye. If she got to her dorm soon enough, maybe she could get in a little studying before sleep.

She grabbed the pocket edition of Advanced Potion Making and left the Great Hall. Hermione tried to bring a book with her as much as possible when she went to eat in the hall due to the fact that Harry and Ron always tended to show up a little later than usual. It's not that she didn't like talking to Neville or Ron's little sister – in fact, Ginny was one of her best friends, she reflected – it was simply her pure _enjoyment_ of reading.

Much like Malfoy.

Hermione tried to push her attention away from how Malfoy looked, seated around his friends. He felt different. His aura _seemed different_ and that made her unnerved.

And what about his lack of response when Theo quite obviously slammed her? That was the worst of all. One would think Hermione would find comfort in the fact that Malfoy kept his mouth shut and his eyes to the table but all this accomplished for her was a rowdy mental state.

Hermione found herself staring into the eyes of Percival Pratt once again and she didn't know why.

* * *

A/N:I already have three chapters written for this fanfiction and am working on the forth. I was planning on posting one chapter every week _but_ other arrangements can be made.

If you want a chapter up faster, **_you have to leave a review_**. I am doing this purely for pleasure but if I don't get reviews it is hard to keep motivation and momentum!

Love always, Elle – your author for this story.


	2. Books

**Books**

"Harry! Ron!" Hermione did her best to shout, turning the corner to meet up with her two best friends in between classes. The two boys turned in her direction, smiles on their faces. "How was Ancient Runes?" Hermione started as soon as the three met. Harry gave out a quick laugh, looking at Ron, who's face turned a light shade of red.

"Ron set fire to something," Harry shook his head, eyeing his red-headed companion, "We weren't even _supposed_ to be using magic in this class, and somehow, he still managed to set the place on fire."

A giggle escaped Hermione's lips as she turned to walk to her next class with her friends. Her eyes on the ground in front of her, she imagined the scenario as if she was there. As much as she might like her skills, she sometimes wished her advanced classes didn't make her miss stories like this one.

"At least I didn't set anything of _importance_ on fire," Ron mumbled from beside her, causing another laugh to come falling out of her mouth. She looked at the two and sighed.

"Well, we're definitely you're definitely not going to have as much excitement in the next class, Harry," Hermione cautioned, remembering who taught their Advanced Arithmancy Studies class - Professor Vector. She shuddered. The woman was disciplined.

She looked away from her friends towards their closed classroom door to see two students standing outside of it. Theodore Nott had grown since her first unfortunate meeting with him. He was just another pureblood with the belief that he was better than everyone else. His Slytherin tie suited him very nicely.

If only it was a little bit tighter.

A groan was heard awfully loud coming from Theo, "Why do you even _bother_ to show up to class? You know everything anyways and all you are is a distraction to the rest of us _trying to learn_."

Hermione glared at him, attempting to hold her tongue. As much as she wanted to snap at him, she knew that if Professor Vector came strolling down the hallway right as things escalated she wouldn't take too kindly with excuses. Besides, other students were already lining up behind them waiting for their class to begin.

"Bugger off," Ron barked, annoyed already with Theodore's belittling words, "Where's your wanker leader – playing catch with Chief Death Eater?" Theo's fists clenched at his side, tempted by his anger.

"Why don't you _fucking_ -

"Draco's been feeling ill," Blaise interrupted, shooting the golden trio a small look of apology. Harry and Ron always had issues trusting Blaise's kind words due to his being a Slytherin, proving to Hermione that the serpent house was not the only one plagued with being persuaded by prejudices. It almost made Hermione mad. Blaise seemed gentle and honest most of the times, and despite being best friends with dickhead number one, he is still a person who deserves a living chance. Hermione accepted his small gesture of apology, giving him a nod.

"What, has the ferret been sick for four weeks now?" Ron moved forward, almost snarling the words as they left his mouth. Theo was becoming increasingly angry and it was only a matter of time before he did something. Harry put a hand on Ron's shoulder; telling him to back off. He was treading on thin ice.

Abruptly, a flurry of red robes and a tall witch hat came rushing down the hall and Professor Vector walked in between the group to unlock the classroom. Not noticing the tension, she turned around to look at the group quizzically.

"What are you all doing standing around?" Her eyes narrowed at us all, her voice dipped in authority. Finally, her eyes fell onto Ron, "And shouldn't you be at your Herbology class, Mr. Weasley?" A smirk grew on Theodore's face and Hermione felt her impulse to give him a good wallop increase. Ron huffed out an apology, a look of pure annoyance gracing his features, and started down the corridor after giving Harry and Hermione a final nod. Vector looked at the rest of the group, "Well, hurry on, then," ushering for everyone to get to their seats.

When the students had settled and class had begun, Harry turned in his seat to look at Hermione and nudged her form. She was taking notes quietly and listening intently. He nudged her again.

" _What_ Harry?" Hermione looked at him incredulously, miffed by his attempts to steal away her attention.

"I just wanted to let you know," Harry whispered, "that Ron asked me to tell you about something…" His voice trailed off and he started to look incredibly guilty. Hermione's eyebrows twitched, a feeling of worry settling in her stomach. She didn't want it to show on her face, but a sentence like that could really distress her.

"Well?" She questioned after Harry let what seemed like minutes pass by. Harry's mouth tightened and soon fell.

"Ron's been getting a lot of attention for his accomplishments in Quidditch," Harry initiated, looking worried for Hermione's reaction, "And a certain girl in particular has been regarding him."

Hermione felt her heart drop in her chest and her body stiffen. Of course a girl would pay attention to him. He was worth it. _She_ payed attention to him, right? If he was good enough for Hermione to pay attention to, he was certainly good enough for _some_ _broad_ to pay attention to.

Hermione just always had this thought that Ron wouldn't give any other girl the time of day. Hermione was wrong. And Hermione was never wrong.

"Oh," She let out, not allowing the emotions to show on her face, "Who?"

Harry sighed, looking contrite, "Lavender Brown."

"Oh."

Time passed, and Hermione found she couldn't pay attention for the rest of the class. She would just have to ask someone else for their notes later.

* * *

Walking down the empty corridors while classes were being held gave Draco a feeling of advantage. It had been about a week and a half since he settled into the boathouse and he was consistently missing class, despite what his elder mentor said about blending in. He didn't _want_ to wear a mask and blend in. He didn't want to pretend like he hadn't changed drastically. Everything was different.

This _mark_ made him different.

And, as he walked towards the library, he took note of something else. This mark felt draining to him. Every time he attempted to repress the burning feeling the mark violated him with, Draco felt himself growing more fatigued. If even on a minuscule measure, he felt the intensity of the magic between his hand and his wand lessen. And that scared him.

Draco numbed those thoughts away and focused on the task at hand. He knew he would have to start attending classes soon enough – if he didn't, Snape would probably have a pissy fit – so here he was, at the library. He noticed that, although his bookshelf was full to the brim with learning materials, it only held two of the six books he needed for the year. He needed to round up as much as he could so he could catch up on what he has been missing out on.

If he wanted to defend himself someday, he would at least need to listen in class.

And class never seemed to be a chore to Draco anyways. His father's needs for him to be the best of the best pushed him towards becoming a studious pupil, and his rivalry with Granger for the top pushed him even further towards success.

He had taken up a habit of calling Granger by her last name, if only in his head. He found himself dissatisfied in constantly referring to her as a mudblood. The word had become spoiled, putting the taste of rot in his mouth. He had already condemned her for life and he felt enough pity for her. And he was tired of feeling pity.

He just wanted this whole thing to be over.

He went to the front desk of the library and listed the books he needed. With a flick of her wand, Madam Irma Pince had the books flying over students' heads and nearly knocked someone out. She was cold-blooded, the old hag. The books slammed on the table in front of Draco and she gave him a dreary look. He rolled his eyes and grabbed the books, annoyed with how exaggerated everyone in this infernal place could be. He turned to leave.

Unanticipatedly, his eyes dropped on a book resigned on a table with a familiar name on it.

 _Percival Pratt_.

This dead varmint was clearly following him.

Draco picked up the book to inspect it. The book was made out of a warn-down chocolate brown leather with small inscriptions on the back and spine. It had a bound green silk bookmark, and it felt warm in his hands. With the small book in hand, after deciding he would keep it for entertainment's purpose, he left the library.

Walking down the corridors, back towards his boathouse, he opened the book to the last read page where the bookmark was softly laid.

 _There is no silence upon the earth or under the earth like the silences under the sea;  
No cries of birth, no fires to burn,  
No wars are there to flee.  
There are no silences anywhere like there is under the sea;  
No peace can compare, not earth, wind, or air,  
A place where you can be free._

* * *

Hermione decided it wasn't worth her time. After realizing no work could be done during her last class, Potions, she decided to tell Professor Slughorn that she just hadn't been feeling well and wanted to head back to her dorm for a little bit of rest as to not miss more school later from something as little as a common cold. Slughorn quickly agreed, patting one of his favourite students on the back, and told her that all she needed was a little snooze. Slughorn had taken a liking in Hermione for her natural flair in Potions, and had invited her to become a member of his Slug Club. Hermione happily obliged in her professor's wishes.

She looked at Harry and Ron. This was a class the three shared together and Lavender Brown seemed to stalk the corners of the classroom, waiting to congratulate him on his every move. It sickened her. Pushing the thoughts away for only a moment, she turned to Harry and gave him a hasty sorry before she retreated for the rest of the day, leaving him alone to be pursued by Slughorn. She knew he would understand, though. She just needed the evening to get over her little feelings and be on with it by tomorrow. She wouldn't be in distress over a little crush.

So, she left the classroom and headed towards the stairways. Keeping her eyes to the ground, she let her feet take her away as her mind started turning.

Lavender Brown. What did she know about this girl? She was in Gryffindor and resided in the noisy room, where three girls would listen to music constantly and talk quite loudly.

 _So, she was a cocky, obnoxious little twit?_

No, Hermione couldn't allow herself to get carried away. She couldn't let her jealousy turn this girl into something she wasn't. Until she _truly_ met and got to know her, Hermione promised herself she would not hate her.

Dislike her a little bit, sure. But _hate_? She simply couldn't.

Hermione reasoned with herself. Hadn't she seen Lavender in Dumbledore's Army last year?

Hermione focused much too hard on the ground, for she suddenly felt her body smacking into another and her books dropping to the floor, mixing with the other person's books.

"Isn't anyone _competent_ in this _fucking_ place?" She heard a familiar voice growl and her head snapped up to look at the culprit.

 _Malfoy._

When he looked at who he had just insulted, he almost froze. Draco immediately felt his heart pounding, and _bloody fucking Salazar, why was his heart pounding?_

"Well, it's not like you were watching yourself either," Hermione quickly snapped, eyes narrowing at her aggressor. If his own thoughts weren't going to make him react, Hermione's retort swiftly did the job for him.

" _Fuck off_ ," the words came shooting out of his mouth like daggers, annoyed at himself for not reacting sooner. Hermione's jaw clenched as she looked at him and felt herself getting angrier. Huffing, she turned her gaze to the fallen books. After a day of complete shit, she just didn't have the time or energy to put up with Malfoy's bitter disses and scrutiny. She just wanted the day to be over already. She bent down to pick up the books.

And for some reason, that pissed Malfoy off.

He didn't want her to go through his stuff. He had finally just gathered what he needed for the year – this year of school that he would be having so much trouble just trying to _attend_. He had a shitload on his mind, an assassination to execute, and a family counting on him to fulfill his duties. He was shoved out of the comfort of his life, out of the comfort of the manor, all to perform illegal acts in which he knew the entirety of the _world_ was going to hate him for. He didn't want her to even _glance_ into his life, especially knowing that she was the enemy in this situation. Or was he the enemy? He didn't even fucking know.

And maybe it wasn't just her touching his stuff that annoyed him; maybe, for once in her dull, sad life, he wanted her to react to him. He wanted her to cuss him out and tell him he's worthless just as he told her countless times throughout the past five years. He wanted her to tell him he's pathetic, to go to hell and to fucking _rot_ there. He wanted more reason to hate her than just her blood.

Why couldn't she just fucking react?

What was she so fucking afraid of?

He reached for his wand, almost wanting to slaughter her right there. She was pathetic and the reason for what he was going through right now. If she was a pureblood, he wouldn't have such a filthy fucking conscience about making her feel like nothing. He would have no problem letting her know her place. If she was a pureblood, he wouldn't have to kill her someday – just the thought of it twisting his insides.

She wouldn't be condemned, and in turn, he wouldn't be condemned.

"Didn't I tell you to _fuck off_ , mudblood?" Malfoy's words stung both himself and his victim, poison being transferred from him to her. He did the best he could to feel as if those words belonged coming out of his mouth, just as they felt so right to say less than a year ago. The vulgar slurs were a comfort to him until he understood the intensity of what they meant – and now he can't stand himself for not being able to say them with dominance.

Hermione dropped whichever books he could tell were his back onto the floor and sneered up at him. He just didn't know where to stop, did he?

"Fine, pick them up yourself," she said, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice. She had a stressful day and this encounter had only made her feel worse. She couldn't help it that for once she let that word break her barrier. She was tired and emotional and wanted to disappear – and that's exactly what she planned to do.

Getting up from the floor, she found as much grace as she had to brush off her robes, turn around, and get out of there; leaving Malfoy stranded with his books at his feet.

He knew he had hurt her. He could see it in her eyes. As much as she tried to hide it away, her eyes betrayed her. They poured out her secrets to the world for him to collect.

And he hated it.

Draco looked at the pendulum clock hanging high in the corridor. The final class would be soon over and he didn't want to be in the middle of the sea of students that come rushing out. Looking to the untouched books, he bent down to grab them.

 _Fuck._ Where was his Percival Pratt book?

* * *

Hermione awoke with a grunt and a textbook in her arms. After making it back to her room, she took a shower to calm her nerves and changed into a pair of pajamas, already tired of what this week had brought upon her. Attempting to keep the intruding thoughts at bay, she tried her best to submerse herself in her studies, reading two chapters ahead of her Transfiguration class. Soon, she found herself growing tired and had repositioned herself on her bed to feel comfortable. The alluring exhaustion from an emotionally tiring day had seduced her, and there she was, waking up at nearly half-passed eight to the shuffling of footsteps outside her door - in the Gryffindor Girl's Dormitory. She had missed dinner.

A knock was heard at her door and she shot up in her bed. Placing the textbook on her side-table, she called to the unknown person.

"Come in!"

The door slowly opened and in came Ginny with a concerned look on her face. Hermione self-consciously ran her hands down her pajama pants, smoothing any creases.

"Hey, I missed you at dinner," Ginny started, sitting down at the edge of Hermione's bed, placing her bag on the floor. She unzipped the bag and wiggled her hand into it to pull out a chocolate bar and a pumpkin pasty, wrapped in a clear sandwich pouch. Hermione gave Ginny a grateful look, "Is it about my _witless_ brother?"

Hermione wished it were that simple. Thinking that it would be easier for Ginny to understand, Hermione stuck to that story and let out a sigh.

"He's just…" She started, giving her bottom lip a tug. She decided to give a half-honest opinion of what she was feeling, "He has every right to date people. I don't know why I'm bothered at all."

And the truth is that she _wasn't_ really that bothered. After giving it a good thought or two in the shower, Hermione realized that Ron was just a little crush. Nothing more.

What had really bothered her was another issue altogether – just this time with platinum blonde locks.

"Ron can be a total prick at times," Ginny continued, handing her brunette friend the sweets she brought back, "Oblivious, really."

After a moment of silence, a sudden flash of excitement crossed Ginny's features and her hands shot back into her unzipped bag. Hermione's eyebrows furrowed, intrigued by whatever caused such excitement.

Out of her bag, she held two items that she knew the owner would be searching for:

Harry's mysterious copy of Advanced Potions Making and the ever so exciting Marauder's Map.

During the previous week, Hermione had noticed Harry's intense interest and attachment to an old copy of their Potions textbook. After Harry asked about a certain unknown spell and Hermione's lack of answer, Harry grew hostile when Hermione asked him about this nameless Half-Blood Prince.

Harry didn't know, but Hermione was willing to bet she could find out.

So, she asked Ginny if she could put what Fred and George taught her into good use and get her that book. She clearly had succeeded.

"The map is just an add on," Ginny explained, handing the items over to Hermione, "I had Dean ask Ron about Quidditch, and Harry became so engrossed on the debate between the two that I just snuck my hand in his pocket and _voilà_."

Hermione shook her head at the scenario, never imagining it to be that easy.

She felt the book in between her hands, it's rough edges caressing her fingers. She peeled open the book to the first page, running her fingers over the written annotation.

 _This book is the property of The Half-Blood Prince._

Smiling down at the book, another knock at the door sounded and, not even waiting for an answer, in came Romilda Vane.

"Hey, sorry to interrupt guys," Her eyes darted between the two other Gryffindor girls, "But Cormac McLaggen is here to see you, Hermione."

Before Romilda could even finish her sentence, a groan was heard leaving Hermione's lips.

 _Why couldn't this guy just leave her alone?_

A pompous Gryffindor boy, year seven, who was unwelcomely infatuated with Hermione. He was arrogant, and she even overheard him talking poorly about Ginny and Ron.

If you're trying to get into someone's undergarments the least thing you can do is _be polite._

Hermione huffed again and stood up, patting down her pajamas and throwing a house coat over top. Annoyed, she left her dorm to see multiple Gryffindor girls waiting patiently outside in the entrance hall of the girl's dorms to see what she would do. She shook her head at them and they watched her as she walked to the door.

Before he could say anything, she stepped out and closed the door behind her.

" _What?_ " She asked, almost in an abrasive tone before he could even let a word out. He gave her a look, then started.

"Hello Hermione," A smirk appeared on his features and she just wanted to give him a good wallop, "I just came by to ask something from you, if you don't mind."

She breathed in, not allowing herself to get too frustrated. The day was already too hot then cold for her to handle and she _did_ mind _._

"Okay," She urged him to continue, trying her best not to sound too sharp around the edges.

"Well, Slughorn had invited me to his Christmas party this November, and-

She tuned him out quickly. She had no interest in being asked by a boy to a party she was already invited to, much less _McLaggen_. But, then again…

It would absolutely astound Ron, wouldn't it?

"Fine," Hermione snapped, interrupting Cormac before he could even ask, "I'll go with you."

Cormac blinked as though he couldn't understand what was happening. Hermione gave him a final nod and asked whether or not he had anything else he had to say or ask of her. He said no, so she said a quick goodnight and walked hastily back to her dorm before any of the girls could ask questions.

"What was that about?" Ginny, who had slipped her bag back over her shoulder, asked.

"Cormac asked me to Slughorn's Christmas party."

"He asked you?"

"Well… I guess I asked him."

"You did _what?_ " Ginny questioned, eyes wide with surprise. Hermione threw her hands into the air.

"Well, it's not like I can ask bloody _Ron_ now, can I?"

Time passed for a moment, and Ginny gave it a second. Maybe this could bring Ron back to his sanity.

"Okay, sounds good," Ginny concluded with a devilish smirk, nodding at Hermione, "Well, I've got to get to bed, love," She continued, walking over to give Hermione's cheek a quick peck, "Feel better in the morning." Hermione said her goodbyes and shut the door behind her, walking back to the bed and grabbing her bag to put her textbook back in preparation for tomorrow. Before she could close it, something caught her eye.

 _Percival Pratt_.

What was this doing in here?

Her mind raced from class to class, wondering whether or not she had taken someone else's book by accident. She was in a bit of a daze all day after Harry had told her about Ron's budding relationship and could have possibly stolen this book from someone. And then she remembered bumping into Malfoy and _oh no, this is Malfoy's book._

What was he doing with a poetry book?

She noted the green silk bookmark and opened the book to it's last read page, giving it a read for herself.

 _There is no silence upon the earth or under the earth like the silences under the sea;  
No cries of birth, no fires to burn,  
No wars are there to flee.  
There are no silences anywhere like there is under the sea;  
No peace can compare, not earth, wind, or air,  
A place where you can be free._

Sighing, Hermione grabbed the chocolate bar and opened it, munching on what food she had. Two new books had come to her on what was possibly the most stressful day of the year so far. She looked from the book in her hands to the items Ginny brought this evening and began to flip through the pages of Harry's mysterious Potions book. As much as she wanted to dwell in Malfoy's life and bring answers to her many questions, she had to keep her head on straight and her eyes on the goal.

Just who was The Half-Blood Prince?

* * *

A/N: Hello, my lovely readers. I try my best to make every chapter as full and detailed as possible in order to create a world for you all that is worth diving into. No matter how short or long, every piece of information always drives the plot forward and know I will never have 'filler' chapters. Everything has its purpose – this is especially true as a creative writer. I will try my best to create chapters that are at least 5,000 words long but please, bear with me for shorter chapters.

Again, if you want a chapter up faster, **_please leave a review_**. I am doing this purely for pleasure but if I don't get reviews it is hard to keep motivation and momentum! **Review, review, review!**

Love always, Elle – your author for this story.


	3. Fear

**Fear**

Terrified was hardly a word that could be used to describe how Draco was feeling.

It was just too undemanding.

Draco paced back and forth around his boathouse, looking down at the once-inactive tattoo on his left forearm. It had turned pitch black and was burning and _fuck was he scared_. Draco had never attended a Death Eater meeting, and though Snape had previously warned him about a gathering happening soon, he hadn't known _how soon._

He didn't know Snape only gave him two days' time to prepare.

Realizing he had spent enough time pacing the room and he shouldn't keep Voldemort waiting, Draco hurried get out his wand and think of the destination. After a moment of tight squeezes, he found himself in Malfoy Manor.

He felt like puking – and not due to apparation.

"Ah," The powerful voice let out a sound that echoed the grand, silent room. Draco glanced around, attempting to gain composure, and found himself looking at the others who were seating around a large table; most of whom he was introduced to through Snape not even a month ago, "Young Malfoy." Understanding that he was being addressed, Draco looked to Voldemort's authoritative call.

And no matter how many times Draco had to look at the scaly beast, he would never get used to how utterly _horrifying_ he looked. He couldn't be referred to as a wizard any longer, in Draco's eyes. His hatred had engrossed him too much – he was far too gone.

"How gracious of you to join us today," Voldemort's sharp eyes racked over Malfoy's body, stepping towards the boy who was using all of his energy to camouflage his terror, "A little sweaty, are we? Just got out of Quidditch?"

The room full of loyal subjects burst into amusement, chuckles and laughter bouncing off the walls – a sound that was hardly heard in Malfoy Manor; making the situation just that much more vivid and violent for Draco. Voldemort's mouth turned up into a wicked smile, and Draco didn't know whether or not to join in on the howling of voices or stay quiet. He chose the ladder.

As soon as Voldemort had started to grin, his face faltered, and fell – the laughter dying down with it. He put his hand on Draco's tight shoulder and guided him to a place near the head of the table, where he took a seat.

Draco looked over to the professor who was seated directly across from himself. Snape was staring intently and devotedly at Voldemort, listening carefully to what the self-proclaimed Dark Lord had to say. Malfoy decided to copy his actions.

"I've gathered you all here for a reason," Voldemort's voice shook the room, his commanding eyes overlooking his followers, "And that reason is to discuss Albus."

He paused as if a response were to come. It never came.

"His life has been cut short," Voldemort continued, "His time here up."

"And may he rest in animosity," Draco heard Bellatrix's voice respond to the Dark Lord, and he turned his head slightly to see her face gleaming from beside Snape. Draco hadn't even noticed her. Chuckles were heard quietly around the room and Draco glanced back to Voldemort to see if he approved. He did.

"Bellatrix, my loyal servant." He almost thanked her, the same wicked smile on his features. He turned back to the rest of those gathered around the table, "Draco is going to kill Albus."

Surprise glances shot around the room – Draco assumed this was the first most of them had heard of this. He felt his heart began to pound and his mouth become dry. He was nervous beyond a doubt and couldn't stand to hear the whispers that questioned his abilities. Draco had questioned his own abilities – if they didn't believe he could do it, then how could he?

Voldemort looked directly at Draco, his eyes surveying the boy. Draco felt his heart stop as Voldemort's smile left his face and his eyes locked on him. He felt his hands shaking and wanted to look away from the man-turned-snake, but knew that would only harm his integrity.

"Are you scared, boy?" Voldemort asked Draco, standing up. Draco quickly thought through what he couldn't possibly say at this time.

His mind drew a blank.

His mouth could no longer form any words.

Voldemort's eyes sharpened and his jaw clenched, "Stand up."

Draco felt his heart sink. He rose from his seat.

 _This can't be happening._

"Come here, child," Voldemort challenged, his degrading pet names bringing Draco closer to the reality of what was about to happen. Draco forced his legs to move away from the safety of the table towards the wizard so powerful, people worldwide feared to use his name.

"There is no room for fear here," the Dark Lord spoke again, voice deafening in Draco's ear. He circled the boy until he came full-stop in front of him, nose to nose.

"What are you so afraid of?" Voldemort questioned. Draco stood still in fear, unable to speak as if his mouth was full of sand. His throat was dry. He was stuck.

He was stranded.

Voldemort's snake-like eyes bore into Draco's silver pair. He waited for what seemed like an eternity for the Young Malfoy to answer his questions, but still, the room was cold and mute. A frown formed on his face.

"I guess we'll have to fix that," He said, stepping back. Draco felt his heart began to work again and his light-headedness began to fade. He kept quiet and that had saved him.

He could have never been so wrong.

" _Crucio_."

Draco could only see a red flash before he fell to the ground, screaming out in excruciating pain. He felt his eyes swell out of his head, his skull cracking in half. As though his body was being ripped apart at the seams, Draco heaved out vomit, his body shaking – trying to pull itself together.

" _Sectumsempra._ "

All Draco could see was blood and vomit. His body convulsed in sporadic intervals, feeling his skin being stabbed and slashed, severed and sliced. Blood was squirting out of his thigh as he was trying to understand this unannounced attack. His hair was matted down against his head, blood covering his face. He gasped for breath to regain cognition, but the smell of vomit that reeked around his body caused his stomach to convulse again, vomit spewing out in front of him.

There were no reactions. Nobody dared to question.

" _Alarte Adcendare._ "

Draco felt himself being lifted into the air. He was sure his death was near.

Suddenly, his body was being thrown to the table and he laid there, gasping for breath, looking for anyone to help him. He looked into the eyes of his aunt only to see indifference.

Time passed as he convulsed on the table. The room was silent except for the gasps of the near-dying boy on the table. After a while, Voldemort gave a final look at the teenager.

"Now, you have nothing left to be afraid of," and with his final words, Voldemort vanished.

The people around Draco vanished, as well, until there was only Professor Snape and Bellatrix left, looking at his convulsing body. His aunt Bellatrix leaned down to look him in the eye. He smelt her breath on his nose as his consciousness was leaving his body.

"That should teach you to speak up when the Dark Lord addresses you."

And forthwith, everything went dark.

* * *

Hermione looked at the book for the hundredth time that day.

It was already mid October, the leaves had begun to fall, and Draco _still_ hadn't asked for his book back. Not that she had given him much of a chance to. It's not like she was going to march up to him and hand him his book after he had treated her as if she were nothing at all. She was picking up his books for him after he smashed into her and he was still being the same old _arsehole_ he always was.

It shouldn't have surprised her as much as it did. After his lack of response in the Great Hall to Theo's remark she had hoped he would at least leave her alone.

After tearing through the poetry novel, reading it all over word by word, Hermione couldn't find _one clue_ as to why Malfoy had taken an interest in a romantic poetry wizard from the early 20th Century. It frustrated her to no ends.

And where exactly _was_ Malfoy? After perfect attendance since the day after she bumped into him, Malfoy had skipped classes today and was no where to be seen. Curiosity got the better of Hermione, and she found herself reaching into her pillowcase and pulling out the Marauder's Map.

A feeling of anxiety sifted into her stomach. Why did she have to know where he was? Why did she care about what happened to him?

She quickly pushed those thoughts to the side. It's not that she cared about him, it's simply the fact that today she had wanted to return his book back to him and she hadn't seen him for the day.

She took out her wand from her robe pocket and, after setting the map down, she tapped her wand down onto the map before whispering, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Immediately, the map came to life, opening up and allowing her the secrets of the castle.

Her eyes swept across the page, attempting to find the hidden boy. Her eyes landed on Slughorn's office, taking note that the first dinner for the Slug Club would be held tonight. She was surprise when Hermione was approached by the professor around the third week at Hogwarts after acknowledging her surprising abilities in class. He had pulled both Harry and her aside and showed them both a list of Gryffindor students he intended to invite to the Slug Club. He did this, asking whether or not they had any further suggestions – students who had shown in the past five years their skills. Besides advising on inviting Ron, as loyal friends do, both Harry and Hermione shook their heads.

Hermione grimaced when she saw Cormac on the list but understood Slughorn's reasoning. McLaggen had family members who were highly influential in their careers at the Ministry of Magic. When Slughorn had shown the pair the list, Harry questioned why he had shown the two _only_ the Gryffindor list. The old professor broke out into a rambunctious laugh, wiping away tears that had formed in the outer corners of his eyes.

"If I showed you the Slytherin list, you would advise me to disinvite the whole house!"

Hermione guessed he had a point.

Breaking away from her train of thought, Hermione brought herself back to looking for Malfoy on the map. After realizing it was taking a great deal of time, Hermione started to look around rooms that were usually off limits to students and there she saw his name.

 _Draco Lucius Malfoy._

But what was he doing in the boathouse?

Well, she had to return his book to him whether he liked it or not – whether or not he wanted to run and hide. She was finished with having this burden in her room and on her mind, as if the book carried encoded messages about Malfoy's true, delicate intentions. As far as she was concerned, Malfoy was a blood-thirsty, remorseless, carnal _creature_ who was charging right towards her, and she didn't want to have anymore reason to talk to him.

Once she handed this book over to him, his presence in her life would be over. He could no longer take up residence in her brain.

Making her decision, she tapped her wand on the map and quietly whispered a quick, "mischief managed." She placed the map back into her pillowcase, grabbed the book and was well on her way. She decided the best path to take would be the stairs that lead down from the entrance courtyard, so that's where she headed.

Nerves began at the pit of her stomach when she had reached more than halfway to her destination, only getting closer by the second. She didn't want a run-in with Malfoy to ruin her day like it had just under a month ago and needed to keep a clear mind for Slughorn's invading and intrusive questions that would surely be thrown at her all night. From as far as she could tell, she was the only muggle-born invited so far.

She got to the stairs and started her way down. The seed of nerves had grown into a bush, and her whole stomach felt queasy. This better not take too long, and he better not get angry at her for doing the _polite thing_ and returning a book to him that he hadn't even asked for back.

When she got to the bottom of the stairs, she noticed the door stood ajar. She sucked in a breath to quiet her madly wild thoughts and took a step in.

Her breath caught in her throat when she realized what she saw to be true. There were so many things that made her mind race. She couldn't understand what had happened.

First, the entire boathouse had been altered. What once was an area for boats to dock was now a floored up space, allowing for furniture. The entrance to the lake had been closed off and in the middle of the room, there was a dark green couch – and as much as the transformation of this boathouse had appalled her, the figure that laid on the couch petrified her even more.

Malfoy was bruised with two black eyes and left over dried blood still stuck in his once pure blonde hair. He was naked, with only a dark blanket covering his torso and private area. A leg hung out from under the blanket that looked mangled, and if it weren't for his _very_ shallow, almost unnoticeable breathing, Hermione would have thought that he was dead.

Her mind was racing and everything in her body was telling her to _run, get out of there, now!_

But she stayed still, watching the boy's chest lift slowly and fall.

There weren't many times in Hermione Granger's life where she was honestly, _truly_ sorry for Draco Malfoy. He chose to lead a life very different than hers, and as much as she finds herself to be an open person about many people, she found it difficult to understand his predicament. He was an adult, raised with certain beliefs, but he had many chances to turn himself around and attempt to understand.

And that was it. He was too intolerant of her for Hermione to ever give _him_ a chance.

But, then again, she had never seen him look like this. And, once again, she allowed her empathy to take over her and view him as a _human_. Not a monster like she so often referred to him in her mind. Not the school yard bully who had called her a mudblood for the very first time in front of the entirety of the Quidditch team.

Suddenly, he was just Malfoy. Stripped of his prejudices, stripped of what his parents had drilled into him from the start.

He was just _Draco_.

" _Ms. Granger,_ " She heard a deep voice from behind her and dropped the book, whipping around to come face-to-face with Professor Snape, "If you had any sense, which I know you do, you wouldn't be wandering around looking for trouble."

Hermione had been caught in enemy's territory, from what she knew about Snape, but she could only stand her ground. Her heart pounded in her chest and the curiosity of what happened to Draco got the better of her, pushing words out of her mouth that weren't supposed to be there.

"What did you _do_ to him?" She asked, backing away from the professor. A sigh came from his mouth and his eyes rolled as he stepped into the boathouse.

"I don't have time for your incredulous accusations, Ms. Granger," The man angrily huffed, eyeing the much too curious girl, "So, if you'll step aside and _leave now_ , you won't find yourself in a month's worth of detention, or _expulsion_ for being in areas regularly off limits for students during the school year."

If Snape didn't do this, who did?

After a moment had passed and Hermione still stayed motionless, looking at Draco, Snape became angry.

"Granger, you've seen far too much already," Snape spoke sharply, his composure leaving him in a moment that Hermione never thought would happen during her lifetime, " _Leave!"_

Suddenly, a force pulled Hermione back towards the stairs just far enough for it to shut and lock in her face.

* * *

The image of Draco breathing, almost lifeless, never left her mind; even while she got ready for the Slug Club dinner. She hadn't told anyone about what she saw so far, but had planned to just before dinner with Harry.

She was already running late.

She hurried to put her shoes on and walked as quickly as she could to the destination. Tardiness was never becoming of her, and she had an appearance to uphold.

Just outside the door of his office, she gave her ran a hand through her hair to push it out of her face and clipped just that bit of curls in place. As much as her physical looks weren't something she tended to much, she at times liked to put in effort when appropriate. And tonight, she was supposed to look decent.

But she felt dreadful.

She opened the door and saw everyone sitting around, chatting a little. Dinner was not on the table and a seat was left specifically for her right next to Harry. Perfect.

She rushed to get out a quick hello to Slughorn and a modest thank you for inviting her to the first of, apparently, many dinners, and then walked over to take a seat beside Harry. She put her hand on his elbow to grab his attention and he looked over at the clearly bothered witch.

"Hermione, are you okay?" Harry asked, bushy eyebrows furrowed in concern.

"Yes, of course, Harry, I just need to tell you something," She whispered, letting him understand that this was something to be kept in between them. Harry nodded his head, leaning in closer.

"Dra-

"Ah, just in time, Mr. Malfoy!" And with that, Hermione's head snapped up to look at the door.

Draco, the boy she had seen less than four hours ago unconscious and bloody, was standing at the door in an all black outfit – hair slicked and no blood in sight.

 _What the hell?_

And as soon as she locked eyes on him, he bore his silver-grey pair right back at her. His jaw tightened, eyes glaring bullets into her. She felt herself weaken in her seat.

"Hermione, what were you going to tell me?" Harry asked, awakening the girl from her trance. She looked back and her friend and desperately tried to come up with a way that he could be standing there, right now, looking absolutely fine if she had just seen him almost dead.

And _Godric_ , there was absolutely nothing.

While it may have been easy to fix his sliced up and broken leg with a few _brackium emendos_ here and there, Draco would need at least twenty-four hours of rest and potions and blood replenishing draught and truly intensive care for him to even be nearly as functional as he is now. Hermione knew Professor Snape was a brilliant man, but how brilliant could he really be?

Hermione shook her head at her friend and chewed at her bottom lip, "It really wasn't as important as I thought it was," She said, glancing back to Malfoy who had taken his seat in-between Cormac and Blaise, eyes still firmly focused on her, "I'll tell you another day."

As time ticked on and the dinner commenced, Hermione felt as if the room was closing in on her. Every time she was forced to look up from her plate to answer a question, there he was – eyes locked on her. And as if she had rope tightening around her, she struggled under the weight of his gaze.

Had Snape told him of her awareness?

"Well, Hermione is just the same," Professor Slughorn speaking her name brought her out of her thoughts and into the dreadful reality of the evening, "Working hard and incredibly bright, just like Lily. It seems as though there is a reoccurring trait that works its way into muggle-born witches. Lily was a wonderful student."

Hermione didn't understand who they were talking about until a light flicked on in her head and she remembered Harry talking about his mother, a long time ago. She looked to her best friend and grabbed his hand in a reassuring way under the table. He smiled at her.

"Yes, well," Cormac started, jealously glowering at Harry, "Hermione has proven herself in too many ways. She-

But her mind cut out of the conversation again. As soon as she glanced over to Cormac, she had deceived herself, and suddenly she was looking back at Malfoy again.

She didn't know how to explain her knowing about his location. What was she going to tell him?

As dinner finished and dessert was brought out, Professor Slughorn turned to Malfoy, questioning him as he did the rest of the group, "And Malfoy," he started. Malfoy's eyes finally left her face for a moment and she felt as if her chest finally had enough room for her lungs, "your father was quite a brilliant student himself; nearly top of the class in his days. Very similar, the two of you."

And though Slughorn had probably meant that as nothing less than a compliment, Draco felt his eyes glare at the table and his jaw clench.

"I guess so," Draco managed to get out, annoyed. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione fidget in her seat then awkwardly stand up. All eyes in the room shot to her.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom for a moment," She pointed her thumb behind her, awkwardly announcing her leaving to the room. When she saw Harry look at her weirdly, she tended to her lack of manners, "to powder my nose. I'll be back, Slughorn."

And with another awkward gesture that seemed very unlike her, she hurried out of the room.

And Draco let her have her moment. He could have chosen to take it away, rush after her, corner her in the bathroom and demand to know what the damn _book_ was doing in his place of refuge when he was knocked unconscious. And who had put it there.

But he decided patience is a virtue and he let her have her moment.

As she scurried away, he took a second to realize that, once again, time had suited her well. She had a clip in her hair that allowed people to view her face more easily beneath that mess of curls and she had put on a simple button up sweater that reminded him of knitting.

How bloody offbeat and contrasting could she be?

Hermione made her way to the sink and turned it on quickly. She didn't have much time. She didn't want to make it seem like she knows anything she shouldn't – though she probably already gave it away by acting like a bumbling idiot. Bollocks.

She splashed the cold water on her face, allowing her pores to close up and, with them, her sanity to regain. She didn't know how much longer she could stay in that room squirming all because of Malfoy.

So what if she had seen him? It wasn't _her fault_ he was hurt when she went to drop off his _bloody book!_ She was just trying to get him out of her life and look where that took her.

Shaking her head, she turned off the water, looked at herself once more in the mirror, and turned to walk out. She cleared her mind and walked back into the room gracefully. She couldn't let Draco ruin her day anymore than he already has.

But empathy is a tricky trait to tame. She knew she… Dare she think it, actually was _worried_ about what had happened to her torturous antagonizer. And that angered her.

She sat back in her seat and tried her best to keep her mind away from Draco as she took bites out of the dessert.

Draco continued to glare at the girl. No matter how moderate she looked, she had been in his room, in his _safe-house ,_ doing Salazar knows what and seeing him in a pretty fucking weak state. And he was _fucking furious._ She wasn't allowed to just fucking come into his life when he had a task at hand and she was one of the victims. She needed to stay as far away from him as possible. It was too late for the room, she had already seen that, but he needed to get it across to her that she needed to leave him alone and never even _look_ at him again.

Weasel's little sister walked into the room and _do all Gryffindor's have to stand up tonight so bloody fucking awkwardly?_

The evening came to a close and when Hermione realized Harry was going to stay after to have a talk with Slughorn it took everything she had not to just bolt right out of there. No matter how crudely McLaggen had looked at her all night, nothing compared to the vulgarity of Draco's stares. It had carried on almost throughout the entirety of this dinner party and she just wanted to _avoid_ this confrontation, whatever it was. She wanted to go back to her dorm and never think about Draco in the state that she saw him in again. She didn't want to be affected by him or his presence any longer.

As everyone began saying their thank yous and goodbyes, gathering around to talk to the teacher, Hermione decided that being rude for once in your life couldn't be that harmful. While everyone was distracted, she dislodged herself from the group and snuck out the door. Feeling relief wash over her body, she started to head for the Grand Staircase until she felt a rough hand grab her upper arm and pull her in the way she was going.

"Hey!" Hermione looked at Draco unbelievingly, "What do you think you're doing?"

Draco never stopped or turned around, just continued to pull her by her arm and grunted, "You know exactly what I'm doing, Granger."

Hermione was appalled and annoyed that she couldn't actually struggle out of his grip. Though they often got into combat using their words as swords, they hadn't actually ever gotten into anything physical except for her punching him that one time. Looking at the teenager, he seemed as though he lacked enough strength to pull her along with such force.

"No, I don't, _Malfoy!_ " Hermione yelped at him, actually in a bit of pain. They had gotten to the Grand Staircase and he was bringing her forcefully to a lower level, " _Let me go!_ "

Draco, trying to hold his temper until he could get them somewhere away from prying eyes, just kept pulling until they stopped in front of the portrait of Percival Pratt.

"What the hell, Malfoy?" Hermione snapped at him before she heard him mumble something under his breath. The painting opened up in front of there eyes and Malfoy grabbed her by the wrist to pull her through the tunnel.

They ended up back at the boathouse.

 _A secret passageway._

Suddenly, Malfoy shoved her hand away and glared at her.

"Why did you take me here?" Hermione questioned, pissed off with Malfoy as much as he was with her. Draco's voice suddenly filled the room, roaring out at a confused Hermione.

"It's not like you haven't been here before, you fucking nosy bitch!" Hermione backed away in disgust.

"It's not like I wanted to _ever_ come back here! Why would I _ever_ -

"So, you were here!" Draco yelled, pacing back and forth. Hadn't Snape told him?

"Yeah, I was here! Dropping off _your_ book only to be cornered by your guardian angel!" Confusion flashed on Draco's face as he looked at the intrusive girl before he understood who she was referring to.

"Snape knew you were here?" He questioned, nostrils flaring and chest heaving. He was going to go _fucking_ _animalistic_ if things weren't explained to him soon. "Why didn't he _fucking_ tell me?"

That was a weird confirmation for Hermione to hear.

" _I don't know, Malfoy!_ " Hermione yelled at him, dropping her cool act, "I don't know but I want to finish this conversation and _leave!_ " She headed towards the door, wanting to just get out. Draco stepped in front of her. "Malfoy, get _out of my way or I'll-_

"No, you won't!" He yelled at her making her back up in defense. He let his eyelids drop for a moment, willing himself to calm down. "No, you won't."

Hermione's mouth was closed, her brows creating wrinkles in her forehead as she watched Draco intensely. She had never spent this much time alone with the Malfoy heir and she found herself uncomfortable with how intimate the situation was. He had inched closer to her throughout the argument and she felt cornered. He was just… too close. Still, she patiently waited for his input, not wanting to cause more issues than there already was.

Draco opened his eyes. "I can't have you leave." Hermione's eyebrows shot up in disbelief and she scoffed.

"What, so you're just going to _abduct me?_ " She asked, exasperated. Something dark flashed in Malfoy's eyes as he looked at her.

"Don't tempt me, Granger."

"Draco, this is ridiculous!" Shaking her head, Hermione whined again. Wow, that felt weird to say.

"I can't have you going to your _friends_ and telling them about this place!" Draco shouted, motioning to the door in irritation.

"Malfoy, I won't tell them!"

"You _promise?_ "

"I _promise!_ " Hermione heard herself shout, as well. After a moment of Draco glaring at her, he turned away.

"How can I know you're telling the truth?" He asked a little more quietly, turning back to scowl at her. He looked just as cornered as she felt. Why does he have to look to _human_ all of a sudden? He was literally threatening her, and, now of all times, he had to make her feel _pity_ for her childhood bully? Hermione shook her head looking at him.

"I don't know, Malfoy. You're just going to have to trust me."

Draco scoffed. He had trusted Snape to be _honest_ with him and look where he was. He had trusted his father and now he was working for the blimey fucking Dark Lord. What makes her any different?

"I don't know." He said, pacing around the room again. "I don't know."

Hermione huffed again, and walked over to the couch taking a seat in order to gain space away from Malfoy. She looked so out of place seated on his dark green sofa; it felt odd to him. That was _his couch_.

"Draco, I'm gonna need to go back to my dorm sooner-

" _Stop_ calling me that!" Draco cut her off abruptly. Hermione glared at him.

"Fine, _Malfoy,_ " she corrected, "You're going to have to let me leave."

Draco's heart pounded. She was right – he was out of options, and unless he wanted to literally tie her up, she would have to go back.

And even if he _did_ tie her up, she was clever enough to find a way of getting out of that situation – the clever little pest.

" _Go._ " He let the word leave his mouth and regretted it the second it did. Hermione looked up at him tiredly.

A very tiny part of him almost wished she wouldn't.

His stomach knotted when he admitted that to himself. He had slept, showered, and spent all of his free time in this boathouse and he was very much alone. As much as he despised Granger, he was unsure of whether or not she _would_ tell anyone. In a weird twist of events, fate had brought power into her hands after he spent the entirety of his childhood attempting to take it away from her. And now he was afraid of what that could mean. If she would just stay here, in this boathouse with him, she wouldn't be able to tell anyone his secrets, and he would have the power again.

He hated this feeling. He couldn't trust people, and he knew that was always a problem he had, but _this_ … This was a new form of torture he had never endured.

She walked away and opened the door.

"Granger," she heard Malfoy call for a final time and she turned around to look at him. His pulse was in his throat as he watched her eye him for a final time. She was literally about to walk out of the door with his balls in her tight fist. He was nervous, and as much as he wanted to show her that she doesn't have the power in this situation, he was at her mercy. "We've got a deal?"

" _I promise, Draco."_

And in a flurry of brunette curls, she was gone.

* * *

A/N: I swear, **if you guys don't review, I won't post another chapter.** You evil little minxes.

 _ **NEXT CHAPTER PREVIEW:**_

Two reoccurring nightmares plagued his sleep. Two forms of torture.

The first, bodily. In his most recent nightmares, he had endured countless nights of torture. Nights of bloodcurdling screams filling the air, Bellatrix's spine-tingling laughs crawling into his ears, and looking down at his body to see himself disfigured beyond recognition. Half of the dream would be him holding eye contact with the Dark Lord himself, looking into his snake eyes and feeling petrified beyond belief.

The second? Nightmares that came in the form of Hermione Granger.

A new pair of eyes started to fill his dreams. Brown like chocolate, lashes that can do nothing but kiss – these eyes did all they could to seduce him into a world of safety. Of warmth. But they haunted him all the same.

Love always, Elle – the author of this story.


	4. Empty Halls

**Empty Halls**

Two people were tied up in the middle of the room with potato sacks over their heads. They were seated leaning against each other's backs and were gripping to one another as much as possible with bound hands.

"The Dark Lord brought us all here today to witness judgement taking place," Bellatrix started, looking at the group of Death Eaters, "And honored me with the job of judge." Muffled cries came from the two victims who struggled after hearing the piercing voice announce their fates. She continued, "Though he isn't here, he sends his best regards-

Her voice was cut off once again when one of the victims started to scream, disrupting her speech.

"Oh, love, that was supposed to be _funny!_ " Bellatrix laughed, walking over to the bound couple. When the girl hadn't stopped screaming, Bella's face fell. "If you don't keep quiet, dear, your fate may come a lot sooner."

This only antagonized the screams that suddenly became louder. Draco didn't think it was possible and winced at the emotionally damaging effects of such a scream.

Bellatrix's mouth turned up in a snarl and shook her head, "Suit yourself. _Silencio._ " She turned to the group, a laugh echoing the hall, "What, you thought I was just going to kill her? Where's the fun in that?"

Draco felt the bile rising up in his throat.

"As I was saying, he sends his best regards and hopes everyone well on their tasks at hand," Draco's aunt glanced over to him, clearly directing the comment to her nephew. "Now, if anyone has any objections to what we're about to perform, say I - but know that those will be your last words, sadly."

A chorus of chuckles filled the hall. Draco's voice could not be heard among them.

She waited patiently, and when nobody spoke up, her mouth turned up in a smile. "Perfect."

She walked back towards her victims and began to take the sacks off of their heads.

"Henry Clearwater," She exclaimed to the room as she lifted the sack from his head. A man in his mid to late forties with light brunette hair and a moustache struggled against his bounds, yelling silently at Bellatrix. She rolled her eyes and lifted his silencing charm.

" _Don't hurt my wife!_ " He screamed, eyes tearing up and face darkening in shades. This seemed to amuse Bellatrix.

"Oh, like this?" And without even removing the woman's sack, she yelled, " _Confringo!_ " causing the woman to be blasted across the room, head hitting a sharp edge of a table. Dark liquid began to seep through the sack and, once again, his voice filled the room.

" _No!_ " The man's scream caused the hairs at the back of Draco's neck to stand in alert. He remembered the woman's screams that had happened just a moment ago, and it was almost as if her voice hung grimly in the air. The man's head fell to his chest, screams and sobs echoing the room. Bellatrix smiled and walked over to the man, lifting up his chin with her thin fingers.

"Now that that's done with," She started, pointing her wand to his chest. " _Deprimo."_

Suddenly, the man's started screaming as his head began to squish down. A crack was heard and blood began to trickle from his eyes. Draco's stomach tightened at the sight.

"You disgust me," Bellatrix snarled as she let go of the man, " _Entrailmento_."

The man opened his mouth and organs began to expel from his body along with vomit and blood. Somehow still alive, he could no longer speak, but looked around helplessly, _begging_ to be saved.

But no one would be his saviour tonight.

" _Everte Statum!_ " Bellatrix barked angrily at the man, and after he was thrown across the room with a blast, she walked over to his nearly lifeless body. "You think someone is going to save you? You think anyone here even believes _you_ to be more than dirt?"

She leaned down to the victim and, in almost a whisper, corrected him.

" _You're wrong._ _Avada Kedavra!_ "

* * *

A week later, Draco awoke with a jolt into the harsh light of reality. A blanket of sweat covered his body and he felt at his surroundings, attempting to ground the electrical current within him and find his sanity.

He was in his dorm with Theo and Blaise still soundlessly asleep. He was safe for the time being.

He had found himself becoming increasingly restless, getting only up to five hours a night of sleep after that dreadful day. Two reoccurring nightmares plagued his sleep. Two forms of torture.

The first, bodily. In his most recent nightmares, he had endured countless nights of torture. Nights of bloodcurdling screams filling the air, Bellatrix's spine-tinglinglaughs crawling into his ears, and looking down at his body to see himself disfigured beyond recognition. Half of the dream would be him holding eye contact with the Dark Lord himself, looking into his snake eyes and feeling petrified beyond belief.

The second? Nightmares that came in the form of Hermione Granger.

A new pair of eyes started to fill his dreams. Brown like chocolate, lashes that can do nothing but kiss – these eyes did all they could to seduce him into a world of safety. Of warmth. But they haunted him all the same.

A groan left Draco's parted lips as he gave himself a moment to stretch out the muscles that had gone stiff under the stress of his insomnia. He removed the covers that stuck to his body, and, after coming to terms with the fact that more sleep would be a luxury his body forbade him from, he left the hospitality of his bed to get the stench his dream left him with off of his body with a cold shower.

Though Snape had provided Draco with a sanctuary away from his fellow students, Draco found himself frequently back at his Hogwarts-assigned room in the dungeons. The boathouse had become cold from both the coming winter months and the lack of warm bodies bustling around, and Draco had grown lonesome. The lack of human contact he had in the times he decided he would spend the night at the boathouse had become bothersome. He found his nights getting longer, and his night terrors becoming too torturous to endure. So, he left; only to return on nights when he was warned about Death Eater meetings. Only when he needed to figure out his assassination plans.

Very little times did that place ever serve as an escape.

When he had gotten to the built-in bathroom that only year six and seven Slytherins were provided with, he gave himself a look in the mirror and a grunt of displeasure was heard. Since his torture that had taken place just a week ago, his appearance had only grown worse; the bags under his eyes darker, his white skin paler. Now, his fringe clung to his forehead and sweat just glazed his upper lip. He looked horrendous.

He stripped his white undershirt and briefs from his body and stood nude, looking again at his body. He had gotten thinner and was beginning to look unhealthy, despite his recent overeating in order to compensate for the lost energy from sleepless nights. He gave himself one final look of disgust before he walked over to the shower and turned on the water to a hot, yet comfortable temperature and felt the sudden release of his back muscles under the massage of water.

A grunt of pleasure escaped his lips. Showers had become to Draco what many viewed their beds to be – his oasis. The only place where he could withdraw from what was expected of him and just _escape_. His body felt it and his mind reacted. He noticed the water become a little cold and turned the knob that controlled the heated water just a little higher.

As he cleansed his body, he looked down to his himself with a grimace. He couldn't remember the last time he had woken up with a hard on and that almost made him nervous. He had attempted multiple times to create an image that could provoke that spark again, but no girl that he had thought of so far made the cut. He was drained as a person. Magically, energetically, sexually _drained_. His body had adjusted to the heat of the shower and once again, he found himself turning the cold nob a little lower and turning the heat knob a little higher.

His mouth betrayed his thoughts and another moan of gratitude escaped. The water ran down his back and he felt his whole body unwind. Yes, the shower was definitely his place of rhapsody.

After he washed his hair and he found no trace of his former nightmares left on his body he turned off the shower and wrapped himself in as many towels as possible, hostile towards the cold air that would surely hit his body as soon as he was to open the door. He decided to give himself another moment of solitude and sat on the closed lid of the toilet, covered in his five towels. He felt pathetic.

After his moment had passed and he was dry, he pulled the four towels off his body. A knock sounded at the door. It must've been much later than he originally thought, and leaving the one towel to cover his lower body, he pulled open the door to leave the cloud of warmth in the washroom.

" _Fucking bollocks_ ," Theo started, walking away from the door due to the fog that followed Draco out from his steamy shower, "You know, just because your daddy owns everything, doesn't mean _you_ own it all."

Draco scoffed, looking back at his friend, "Meaning?"

"You don't fucking own the shower, so _piss off_ and let other's have their turns, too."

"Hey," Blaise pipped in, grabbing Quidditch robes and underwear to change into, "It's too early to get into this."

"Have their turns?" Draco laughed at his friend, shaking his head, "What is this – kindergarten?"

A look of apathy crossed Theo's features before he frowned, "You never even told us what happened to you." Draco rolled his eyes, throwing on another pair of briefs underneath his towel. Blaise nodded his head, agreeing with his friend.

"Yeah, we had to lie to Granger and _the weasel_ an-

"I don't mind lying to Granger." Theo cut in, a mischievous smirk on his lips.

"Why did _Granger_ ask about me?" Draco snarled. Though Granger and him had a deal, he had thought it through that it shouldn't change their relationship or how he thought of her. _It couldn't_ ;especially not with the task he had to fulfill before the year was over hanging above his head.

While Theo was distracted, Blaise snuck towards the bathroom and quickly remarked, "She wasn't," before closing the door and locking it behind him.

" _Zabini you fucking snake!"_ Theo threw himself to the door, attempting to slam it open. After some struggling, Theo threw his hands to the air, " _Fuck it!_ I'm not _fucking_ showering this morning!"

Dismissing the childish conversation, Draco went back to what he felt was important, "What happened with Granger?" He had already begun to throw on his robes, and he looked over to Theo who was doing the same.

"Just a run in with weasel boy," He shrugged, grabbing his wand to place it into his pocket. "He was trying to defend that _mudblood_ and brought you up."

The word falling from Theo's mouth felt wrong and Draco visibly tensed. He had watched what Voldemort did to those who fell into that category – the Dark Lord had made a bi-weekly example of how one should look at those who taint the wizarding world. All this accomplished for Draco was make him feel sick and sympathize with the Snake's prey. A word that once felt normal to hear now became as cold as the lifeless, deformed bodies that had been placed under a curse to stay awake and endure as much torture as possible.

"Growing soft?" Theo snickered, a cool smug in place. Draco grabbed a pillow from his bed and threw it at his friend with a scoff.

"Fuck off," He retorted with a roll of his eyes, heading for the door. Theo's voice stopped him.

"Aren't you gonna wait for Blaise?"

"Why?"

"I thought you'd be sitting with us at breakfast before the big game."

Draco looked at his friend, shaking his head, "I have other things I need to do. I'll meet with you guys later." Theo shrugged his shoulders with a smirk on his face.

"Okay, just don't expect us to save you a seat." And with that, Draco turned to leave, in search of the Room of Requirement.

* * *

She had tried to research as much as she could about this Half-Blood Prince. She really had.

But no matter how many books she read at the library, in the restricted section or in books that were open to students, she couldn't find anything on such a character.

She had asked teachers she felt close enough with, even contemplated asking Dumbledore himself, but alas, no information had come up. So, she decided it was just a past student fooling around, and her interest in this Prince quickly diminished.

She walked into the Great Hall with the book and when she got to Harry and Ron, who were decked out in their Quidditch uniforms, she sat down and placed the book in front of herself. Harry's eyes rose to the book and his gaze snapped from the book to Hermione's face.

"Where did you-

"I couldn't find anything on any Half-Blood Prince, Harry." Hermione cut in and slid the book over to Harry who hastily pocketed the object. "I looked everywhere. Nothing came up." One of Harry's bushy eyebrows shot up on his forehead.

"Odd."

"Very." Hermione looked to Ron who was staring intently at the food in front of him, untouched. He looked ill. "Are you okay, Ron?"

The conversation quickly turned to the upcoming Quidditch game and Hermione found herself zoning out. Not because she was unable to keep up, but because sometimes, she was just truly uninterested.

She looked to the other side of the room where she spotted Theo and Blaise. But where was Draco?

She looked around the Slytherin table and realized he was no where to be seen. After that dreadful day, things had changed a _little_ bit in her eyes. She had so foolishly thought weeks ago that if she were to give Malfoy that book back, he would vanish from her mind and they would just move on, pretending as if it hadn't even happened.

But _no_. She decided to go looking for the bloody bugger and saw him actually _bloody_ and alone and half-naked and nearly dead. And since then, he had hardly even left her mind.

It was only instinctual; she had reasoned with herself. As much as it may feel as though she cares about him, it was simply her seeing him in such a vulnerable state that made her worry for him in the depths of her mind. And it wasn't necessarily her _worrying_ for him, but it was weird sudden twinges of guilt about seeing him without his permission in such a way. Without consciously doing so, she found herself looking out for him when she could to see if she could spot new bruises or marks on his body.

Only once had she seen it. A small bruise above the back of his neck that was _almost_ fully covered by his robes. But he had missed it when he clearly used spells in order to settle his appearance.

She also found herself thinking about who could be doing this to him. Why was he showing up to school bloody, and bruised, and an inch away from death? How could he be continuously putting himself in danger?

She didn't know, but her attention was pulled away from that for a moment as she noticed Harry slipping away his previously won vial of Felix Felicis.

"Ron, don't drink that." Hermione snapped at Ron when she realised what Harry had done. She felt Harry's elbow nudge her side and she turned to him and glared.

"Why shouldn't I drink this?" Ron questioned, looking between the two sibling-like friends, clearly missing something.

A soft voice came from beside the trio and Hermione looked to Luna, decked out in a lion outfit in support of the big game. "Hey guys," a small smile was on her lips and she looked at Ron, "You look dreadful. Is that why you put something in his cup, Harry?"

After Harry showed Ron the vial, Ron quickly downed his drink despite Hermione's complaints.

The game was a blur of screaming fans like always to Hermione. She had watched when Harry or Ron's names were being called, as best friends are supposed to do, but other than that she had wished she could tuck herself away and head to the library for peace. Besides, it looked like Lavender Brown had the cheering part covered on Hermione's behalf.

Pretending to be tucked away into her book, Hermione observed the girl. She was prettier than Hermione had initially remembered her to be, with dark blonde curls that seemed to be maintained well and a child-likeness about her face; she could see what Ron could see in the female. She was attractive.

The wind blew around them and suddenly she could only see the girl through the thick strands of her hair. Lavender's hair blew out from her own face in almost an angelic way. Bloody hell.

With a quick and quiet huff, Hermione turned her attention back to her book until Ron's name begun to be chanted by the whole student body. She looked up to realize the game was over, the players had grounded themselves, and Ron was being hoisted onto the shoulders of Gryffindor team-members. What had she missed?

The students were all quickly ushered off the stands and invited to a celebration of the Gryffindor victory by Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, handing out animated flyers. When she got to the ground, her two best friends had already disappeared to shower and change. She tucked her book away and followed the flow of Gryffindor robes to wherever the party was to take place. She looked at the flyer that featured a lion continuously roaring and fireworks. The Gryffindor common room, of course.

When she got there, she found the party to already be in full swing. Amazing, how magic allows such things to happen so timely. Butterbeer was being passed around, music was blasting, and Finnigan had already blown up _something_ or other, with his face blackened and debris in his hair. Hermione shook her head with a laugh and took a seat on the middle cushion of the somehow empty dark red couch to wait patiently for her two friends. Dean jumped over the back of the couch and landed in the seat to her left, putting an arm around her.

"Hermione!" He smiled brightly at her, his teeth contrasting wonderfully against his beautiful skin. He made his hand into a fist and spoke into it as if it were a microphone. "How do you feel about your two best mates working together and beating the Slytherins into submission once and for all?" He shoved his fist towards Hermione's mouth, allowing her to speak into the imaginary microphone. She rolled her eyes with a smile on her lips.

"I'd hardly think that _one game_ is going to finish a feud nearly ten centuries old, Dea-

But suddenly, there was a roar of applause and both their heads snapped towards the door where the Gryffindor team stood proudly with big smiles on their faces. Ron was in the middle, positively glowing, of course. When she realized he was too absorbed in the crowd around him basically worshipping him, she looked at Harry who had already noticed her and was making his way over. Dean was already gone in search of Ginny, respectively.

Harry had difficulty getting to the couch. The crowd was thick and he could hardly move an inch without someone congratulating him or giving him a pat on the back. When Harry finally managed to reach her he dropped onto the couch in the same spot Dean was sitting in.

"If you don't watch out, Harry, Ron might just steal all of your eternal glory right under your nose." Hermione laughed and they both turned to look at Ron. He was surrounded and absolutely loving it. Harry scoffed from beside her.

"Yeah, it looks that way, doesn't it?" He shook his head and looked at her. "So, what did Dean have to say?" She looked at Harry with narrowed eyes.

"Harry, just because he's with Ginny doesn't mean you have to hate him."

"I don't _hate_ him-

"Well, it looks that way-

"But I'm not particularly friends the guy, either. And what about Lavender?" Harry was only rewarded with a large sigh.

"What _about_ Lavender?" Hermione turned her attention towards the girl to observe her. She was clearly attempting to reach Ron, who was now chugging down a pint of butterbeer and the crowd was only chanting him on to drink more. "Honestly though, who could blame him? She's pretty enough."

"Pretty _enough_?" Harry eyed his best friend from beneath his frames. "Hermione, it's okay to dislike someone." Hermione sighed. Although she had previously admitted to herself that she wasn't exactly fond of Lavender, she didn't want to admit it to Harry. She was the sensible one of the three friends – the reasonable one. When Ron and Harry wanted to jump into action without a moment's thought, she was the one who reasoned with them to grab their wands and pack their bags. When the two wanted to solve mysteries, using tactics that could put them at a chance of expulsion, she had their backs and reasoned with Dumbledore. How reasonable is it to dislike a girl just because Ron fancies her? She would be a fool not to fancy him back, and Hermione understood this. She _understood_.

"But I _don't_ , Harr-

She was cut off by the roars of the Gryffindor students and both Harry and Hermione turned to observe what was happening.

Lavender had reached Ron, and Hermione felt as though a needle went through her chest. Clearly, the crowd approved of them being together more than Hermione did, and this only made her cheeks hotter.

She got up to leave and a hand held her wrist. She turned around to look at Harry and he looked at her as though she had just been hit by a truck.

"Hermione-

She quickly shook her head and spoke softly, "It's okay, Harry. I just need a moment." Instead of loosening his grip, his hand slid down to her own. She sighed. She couldn't believe how incredibly Harry had always treated her. He truly was her _best friend_ and she couldn't count how many times he had offered his shoulder for her to cry into, or his embrace to catch her when she stumbled. She always thought he was her soulmate. Though they weren't romantically involved and never would be, she understood that soulmates didn't have to be lovers. He understood this, too. She loved the boy in ways many could never understand. She smiled softly and gave his hand a light squeeze, "I just need to deal with this one on my own. I'll be back, I promise."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed into his frames as he studied the girl. He knew exactly what she was feeling right now, considering how many times he had walked in on Ginny and Dean in the common room, mouths locked and in each other's arms – if Hermione felt even _half_ of what he had countless times, she would be devastated. And she would need someone, but maybe not just yet. Maybe she needed a moment to process everything alone, like she had explained to him. He knew he trusted Hermione not to do anything rash, and he trusted Hermione not to lie to him if she thought otherwise. He needed to trust her judgement. So he did. With one final squeeze, he let go of her hand so she could leave.

And she left.

She left as quickly and quietly as possible, not to draw any attention away from the _scene_ that everyone so clearly enjoyed.

 _Hurt_ wasn't the emotion she could use to describe what she was feeling. Although she clearly cared for Ron, she knew _something_ was budding between the two Gryffindors. She had been warned of this and had mentally prepared herself for months in order to take this hit. She wasn't hurt because, recently, her mind had been elsewhere. Sure, it had stung to witness her long-time crush _snog_ another girl, but she had been warned. By Harry, to be exact.

That boy was too loyal for his own good. He never needed a thank-you from Hermione, no matter how many times he had stuck his neck out for her and defended her blood against others. Despite this, she had to remind herself to thank him another time. She owed him at least that.

But no, she wasn't _hurt_. More embarrassed, if anything. She was embarrassed that basically everyone knew that she fancied Ron, in a way, and he was snogging another girl. She was embarrassed that Ron hadn't even _attempted_ to say hello to her before snogging said girl. She was embarrassed to have allowed herself be struck enough by the event that she had to leave the party that was in celebration of her _best friends_. She felt selfish and she felt embarrassed as she wandered the very empty halls.

She wouldn't let herself cry over this, that was for sure. That was for another time. She needed to cool down and rejoin the party to at least attempt to save face. She did not want to be questioned by others why she wasn't there for the rest of the night – that would just be more embarrassing.

So, instead of crying, she focused on the soft sounds of her footsteps against the stone floors of the halls. She focused on her breathing. She focused on the sounds of the castle.

And soon enough, the castle had begun to speak. She stopped dead in her tracks when she heard whispered voices coming from a hall straight ahead and to the right of her. She didn't know whether or not this was a private conversation and decided she shouldn't listen in. She began to turn away before she heard an all too familiar voice.

"You _must_ let me help you," Professor Snape's voice almost hissed, "Draco, you cannot afford to fail. If you were to be expelled-

"I'm _not_ going to fail." Draco's voice snapped back firmly, only loud enough for Hermione to _just_ decipher his words. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she decided she was going to inch closer. She made her move, and she was just close enough to peer out from the corner of the hall to see Snape had pinned Draco against a wall and the two were basically nose-to-nose. This frightened Hermione and she pulled herself out of view once more. "And _don't_ try _anything_! This is my duty and I'm _doing_ it! I just need this plan to go smoothly and so far, it _is_."

"Listen to me," Snape sneered at the boy who clearly wasn't understanding, "It is _my_ duty to protect you. I swore this to your mother, Draco. I made the Unbreakable Vow-

"Break it, then! I don't _need_ you!"

"You're acting like a child, Draco, and when you're ready to be an adult, you _will_ come to my office and we will discuss this further. Until then, _don't_ let others see catch you roaming the halls and _leaving forbidden rooms_ at this hour and be _grateful_ that it was me." Hermione listened in carefully to Snape's flurry of robes and footfalls. They seemed to disappear down the opposite end of the hallway. It was only Draco left.

Hermione peered from the corner to see Draco looking furious. His fists were clenched and his eyes were shut. He was attempting to gain composure. His hand went to the wand pocket of his robes as if to check that it was still there. _Why?_ She couldn't understand what the two wizards were talking about, except for the obvious unbreakable vow, which potentially played a part in why Snape was in the boathouse when Draco was hurt. He wasn't the perpetrator; he was the nurse. _Huh._

Draco was shaking. He was breathing hard and shaking as he kept one hand on his wand and the other clenched against the cold wall. It soothed him. He was attempting to gain back his body from the anxiety ricocheting against his ribs but, despite the chilliness of the smooth stone wall, his body temperature was only rising. He knew that Snape was right; it could have been anyone else. Anyone else could have caught him leaving the Room of Requirement, and just like that, his cover would have been blown; just like that, his mom would be sentenced to death. That scared the _fuck_ out of him. He was heaving by this point and opened his eyes to focus on _something_ else than the lack of control he would have if he were caught by anyone else. He would have to kill him, wouldn't he? Was there any other choice?

When Draco's eyes snapped open, Hermione quickly retreated behind the wall, causing her foot to hit a bench that was stationed right behind her. The wood scraped against the stone and the deserted halls allowed it to echo around her. Her hand pressed against her mouth as she waited for his response.

" _Who's there?_ " She heard him, unsteady and loud. She felt her breathing catch in her throat and she knew she couldn't run. She didn't know what to do. " _Expulso!_ "

All she saw was an electric blue light heading straight towards her.

* * *

A/N: Cliff-hangers are always fun. _**Review or else Hermione dies.**_ I'm kidding. Maybe.  
Also, if you all haven't noticed already, I've been updating weekly (every Friday/Saturday). If this story gets enough reviews by May (fifty, in my eyes for how early we are in the story), I'll start posting twice a week. Right now, it's not looking that way, but you could turn that around!

NEXT CHAPTER PREVIEW:

" _Draco!_ " By this point, Hermione had resorted to begging him, tears threatening to escape her reddening eyes.

Love always, Elle – the author of this story.


	5. Panic and Trauma

**Panic and Trauma**

It had missed her.

The blue light that seemed to be intent on her destruction had missed her by an inch and hit the wall across from her. If she didn't speak up soon, she would be dead.

"Who the _fuck_ is it?" He yelled into the hall, panicking. Hermione's heart was going a thousand miles per minute. She cleared her throat quietly, attempting to push down the lump that had formed.

"It's Hermione." She said quietly and waited. No sounds were made besides his harsh, unsteady breathing and the pounding of her own heart in her ears. Time dragged on as they both waited for the other to make a move, but nothing happened. By this point, her hands were shaking. Her Gryffindor characteristics got the better of her and she took a step out; he was gone. The door to the potions classroom was opened, the only indication of where he was.

And suddenly, crashes were being sound.

She didn't know why she had to do something, all she knew was she had to do it. Adrenaline coursed through her veins and she bolted to the classroom. Her wand was pulled out in a flash and she was suddenly throwing curses back at Draco.

He tumbled to the floor and a sob found its way into the air. She had disarmed him, then sent him to the ground to be wrapped up in the vines she conjured. She didn't really mean to hurt him, but maybe she _had_ hurt him.

His face held an expression of agony and he seemed like he couldn't breathe.

" _Why are you_ _here?_ " He yelled at the girl who seemed almost as shaken as he felt, struggling in the grip of the vines. His cries filled the room and his head was pounding. Memories of the muggle-born victims of torture started to fill his vision. "Why are you _always here? Leave me alone!_ "

Suddenly, he felt as though he was reliving the moments of torture over and over again. Both his aunt's laughs and the screams of Penelope Clearwater's mother filled his mind, tormenting his already shaken mental state. His anxiety brought on feelings of blindness as he gripped at the vines and floor of the classroom. He was hurt on his right arm by whatever curse Granger had thrown at him, he knew this – he could feel the blood seeping through his robes – and he didn't know whether or not to loathe her actions or thank her. He was torn.

On one hand, he needed this release. He needed to feel the searing pain and the somehow sharp stabs the air made towards his opened wound. He needed his built up anxiety to leak out of him. He needed the hallucinations and atrocious memories to go away. He had always wanted this release, but he knew he would never have the courage to pick up a knife and defile his own flesh and blood. He never had the courage to do anything.

On the other hand, he felt violated. His body was on high alert and he was completely disabled with another thing to worry about. He could feel his heart pounding in his neck, the bile rising into his throat, and his chest heaving to keep it down. He could hear the ringing in his ears and the breathing of Granger, accompanied by his own. He could hear all of his thoughts and see the torture and feel the pain and it was all _too much_. He couldn't regain control of his body. The vines were restricting. He couldn't do anything. He was out of control. _He needed to control his fucking body. He couldn't breathe._

Hermione looked at him shaking on the floor and she became more terrified than if she _were_ blasted by his expulso curse. She realized what was happening.

He was having a panic attack. Sweat covered his forehead, he couldn't seem to get his breathing right, and his shaking was non-stop. He was dry heaving as though he was about to throw up and the adrenaline that sparked in Hermione just a moment ago came rushing back. She needed to know what to do.

And she _did_ know what to do. After the death of Sirius Black, Hermione had kept an eye on her best friend. Harry frequently dealt with flashbacks and nightmares that ended in full-blown anxiety attacks, and she found ways to help him cope. She knew what to do. In panicked situations, _she_ was the one who could be trusted to take charge. _Then why was she still not moving?_

The reality of the situation slapped her in the face and suddenly, she was moving. With a struggling Draco on the floor, she quickly rehearsed charms to repair the damage done to the class and went to Draco's side. He was nearly convulsing, eyes closed shut with force. Her attention was brought to his arm where she had begun to see blood soaking and staining his robes. She had hurt him. Her heart began to race as she begun to pull off his robes.

 _His robes._ _His arm. His mark._

Draco snatched onto her wrist, pushing it away from him with incredible force.

" _Don't fucking touch me, Granger._ " He sneered, eyes still closed and more panic raising the pressure of his blood. " _I'm telling you to never fucking touch me you filthy-_

" _Draco, I need to!_ " The words hardly came out of her and she felt her own worry beginning to hack away at her mental state. Her eyes began to burn. His hand still held her away. She shook her head, panicking. "Draco, _please! I need to help you!_ "

Why did everyone feel the need to help him? He shook his head, biting down on his inner cheeks. The pain was constant, invading his body. He needed it gone, but her grabbing at his robes only caused more panic. What if she were to see the mark? What would happen?

There was a sharp pain in his right arm that shot through to his shoulder and he screamed out in pain.

" _Draco!_ " By this point, Hermione had resorted to begging him, tears threatening to escape her reddening eyes. She couldn't bear to feel responsible for this kind of pain. She couldn't bear to see Draco in such humanly states so consistently. She needed to hate him, but hate wasn't an emotion she felt for him anymore. Not since that day she saw him an inch away from death. Not since today. She couldn't. She could only feel worried. She could only feel sorrow. She could only feel _panic_. She could not feel hate towards the boy that was so exposed and vulnerable in front of her right now.

Draco quickly nodded his head and she removed his robes until he was just in his white button down shirt and his black dress pants. The blood was a dark shade of crimson and she realized this must have been the direct location where the curse hit him. She must have not aimed properly in the spur of the moment or else this would not have happened in the first place.

She began to unbutton his shirt and removed just the side that needed to be tended to in order to keep him as comfortable as possible – especially in the mental state that he was in at this particular moment. Looking at the gash, her mind began to race from spell to spell, trying to figure out what she could do for something that looked this large and deep. Her mind only came to one conclusion, and she knew it could potentially be dark magic. She knew she could be expelled. She knew that this spell _must've_ not been taught to students for a reason.

A counter-curse she had read about in that bloody Half-Blood Prince book. All the description said was that it healed large wounds, particularly ones that were given through the use of the Sectumsempra spell. She didn't even truly know if it would work on the injury she had given the Slytherin boy.

A hiss sounded from Draco due to the cold air hitting the wound and she made her decision.

" _Vulnera Sanentur._ " She quietly said, her hand rubbing his upper arm near the area where he had been hit. Any blood that had covered his arm began to draw back into the wound that was closing at an alarming speed. In a moment's time, he had looked as though he hadn't even been hit in the first place.

But he was still shaking. His breathing was still restricted and erratic, and he looked sickly. His eyes were still closed.

And Hermione was still panicked. She couldn't help herself.

Her hands went to the sides of his face and he recoiled from her touch. Her eyebrows only furrowed in response. "Draco, open your eyes. _Look at me._ " His mouth formed into a frown and he shook his head furiously.

"I _fucking_ can't!" Draco cried out, images still flashing in his mind. "I need to calm myself down!"

Hermione's soothing voice sounded again, "And you will, Draco. Just _look at me._ "

Something about her voice pushed the images away, if only for a moment. And suddenly, he trusted her. His eyes opened to gain a full view of the bold maple-brown eyes that had haunted his dreams so many times. She let go of his face but maintained the eye contact. Her mouth was forming words his ears just couldn't catch and suddenly, he felt something very cold in one of his hands.

He looked down to see she had conjured up a cube of ice and placed it in his hand.

"Wait for it to melt, Draco." She soothed, contrasting against his ragged breathing. The vines retreated and, once again, he trusted her. He focused all of his attention towards the ice cube, willing for it to melt, and his mind began to clear – as if all of the images of torture allowed themselves to be sucked out of him through his hand and into the melting ice cube. He looked up in amazement at the witch, who seemed to have soothed away his traumatic recollections with something as simple as a cube of ice.

Their eyes collided for a second time and all he could feel was relief. Relief that the memories were over and that the pain had completely healed. Relief from his stress; stress that only someone as simple yet completely complex as Granger could alleviate. Relief that Granger was… _Granger._

 _Granger._

The existence of the situation that had just occurred came crashing down on Draco. She had been stalking him, clearly. Her presence was what _caused_ him to snap. Her presence was what _triggered_ all of those horrendous flashbacks of the mudbloods being ripped apart, because _she was a mudblood._

He shoved her away, refusing to speak to her. He couldn't get words out. He wanted to scream at her for even looking his way. She could have let him be, she could have let him suffered through this attack like he does all the time. He wouldn't have been thrown to the floor and bleeding profusely if it wasn't for _her._ He knew how to handle himself. Why the _fuck did everyone think he needed all their fucking help all of a sudden?_

Hermione was speechless, as well. She looked wildly at the boy who had just pushed her down after she had done all she had in her power to help him. His eyes shot at her in warning and he got up, breathing heavily again, but in a more controlled manner. He wasn't anxious – no, he was _angry_ at _her!_

He gathered his bloodied robes and towered over her. A sneer graced his features and she honestly _could not believe_ how he was reacting.

" _Don't you ever fucking think I owe you. I_ _despise you._ " He spat, looking disgusted at the girl on the floor covered in his blood. _His blood_ that _she_ could never be worthy of. He turned to leave and was stopped by words that seemed unfit for the mouth they were coming out of.

" _Fuck you too, Malfoy._ "

And he left her in a bloodied heap on the floor. Suddenly, she remembered why she had hated him all of those years.

* * *

"Why is it, when something happens, it is always you three?" The wise voice of Minerva McGonagall filled the office as Hermione and her two friends stood in front of her.

It was November, Hermione recalled as she looked out of one of the few windows in Minerva's office. Snow fell in heavy flurries as they usually do with the first snowfall in Scotland, and the mountainous landscape was covered in white blankets, making for a lovely sight.

But she didn't _feel_ lovely.

No, she felt positively ghastly. After her encounter with Malfoy, she felt herself avoiding him at every corner of the school. She began planning her days and using certain halls to avoid seeing him in between classes, and avoided lower levels and paths leading to the dungeons in general. The only time they had an opportunity to see each other was during meals and Hermione did all she could in order to restrict her vision. She even made sure to rush to lunch and dinner in order to ensure she had a spot in which she wouldn't have to face Malfoy.

Except once.

Only once had she locked eyes with Malfoy after being held up by a professor, congratulating her on her academic achievements in reference to a recent essay about the history and future of Goblin rights. When she got to the Great Hall, Harry and Ron had saved her a seat that was facing the Slytherin table. Looking up from her food, she couldn't stop her eyes from dwindling in areas she usually wouldn't permit and he was already watching her. When they locked eyes, she suddenly felt inferior. He looked completely numb. Emotionless. As if nothing _at all_ had happened between the two in the past few weeks. She would rather him looking as though he wanted to kill her.

And then he looked away, making her feelings of insignificance just that much more real. She didn't know why it hurt her, but after that, she found her concentration beginning thin and sleep became her new best friend. Everything felt off.

Even when she wasn't thinking about Malfoy, everything was _off_. Lavender was constantly attached to Ron's arm, hindering conversation that the trio would have had otherwise and making both Hermione and Harry feel like a third wheel. And, in other times, Ron had felt like the third wheel. Hermione and Harry were both going through similar emotional journeys at the moment and found refuge in each other. They often whispered and shared jokes together, and Ron had woken up in the middle of the night to Hermione and Harry playing card games on the boys' shared dorm floor. And sometimes, he had woken up to find Harry's bed empty. Though he now had a girlfriend, he couldn't help but feel betrayed by the two. He didn't know what was going on, but just because he had _other_ people to tend to didn't mean he suddenly wanted to be phased out. He started having nightmares about the two spending _nights_ together, as well; and suddenly, the entire golden trio was sleepless and emotionally fatigued.

Nothing was going on between Harry and Hermione, though. They realized after two days of Lavender's constant appearances that they couldn't discuss anything Order-related during the daylight hours. Harry had many concerns, and they focused on deciphering all of Harry's Voldemort related nightmares and Dumbledore's needs to get Harry closer to Slughorn. If not to gain some progress on the matter, then to think about _anything_ other than their bruised hearts.

And then Harry started bringing up Malfoy into conversation again. Hermione didn't know how to respond. She allowed him to vent, but constantly felt overwhelming guilt rise within her whenever his name was brought into conversation. She had an internal battle within her. No matter how _sour_ Draco may act towards her, he had allowed her to see him in broken down, vulnerable states, and she felt her Gryffindor loyalty disallowing her from using his secrets against him. Secrets that he clearly had trusted her with, despite his anger towards her, otherwise he probably would have at least harassed her by now. Or gotten Snape on her back, at least.

But neither had happened and she stayed loyal to the mentally agitated boy, who needed to be shown humanity by anyone who could do so at the moment. Something had happened to him over the summer and into the school year, and whatever it was, it had damaged him. And no matter how deep his words may cut into her already-there wounds, her empathy would always outshine her need for revenge.

But at this moment of time, she started to wonder whether or not she had made the right choice.

For the first time in a long time, the golden trio had been alone on a Saturday and decided to celebrate by going to Hogsmeade and having a bit of Butterbeer. Though Hermione was hardly a drinker, she decided to attend anyways, being happy with Lavender's absence. They left The Three Broomsticks only a minute after Leanne and Katie, and ended up witnessing Katie being possessed and, with the help of Hagrid, rushing her and the opal necklace to the infirmary and Professor McGonagall.

She wondered if she had made the right choice because suddenly, Severus Snape was walking into the room and examining the necklace. Her breathing hitched, and the words, " _It was Malfoy,_ " was heard coming out of Harry's mouth. By this moment, Hermione had _forgotten_ how to breathe. Her eyes shot to Snape who quickly started defending the boy and telling Harry how incredulous of an accusation that was. And just how _serious_ it was.

And Hermione agreed, curiously. Harry did _not_ know that this was Malfoy's doing, but the confidence he had in the words brought her hands to start shaking. What if it _was_ Malfoy? Could Harry know something that Hermione doesn't? Hermione certainly knew things that she had kept away from Harry, and although it was unlike Harry to keep things from his female best friend, she also knew it was unlike _her_ to keep things from Harry, too. Her guilty conscience had begun to make it's return.

They were dismissed, and as soon as they left the room, Lavender Brown had jumped at Ron, kissing his face all over.

"Won-won!" She squeaked, wrapping her arms around the red-head's neck, "I heard about you saving Katie and I can't believe you would put yourself in such danger! Are you hurt? How did you do it?" Surely enough, she had dragged him down the hall and out of earshot, clinging to his form.

And then there were two.

Hermione looked at Harry, worried. "Harry, what did you mean about Malfoy?" She whispered, keeping her voice low in case of any peeping passer-byers. Harry looked at her seriously, then looked around. Yes, it was a busy hall due to the fact that word of Katie Bell and the cursed necklace had clearly spread around and younger years had come to observe whatever they could.

He gave her a look then said, "Come with me. We can't discuss this here."

So, the two left to the Gryffindor tower and went to his room. Interestingly enough, Hermione recalled, guys couldn't sneak into girls' rooms because of the fact that the stairs would transform into a slide as soon as they stepped foot on the staircase, but girls could easily walk into guys' rooms. Something about trustworthiness.

He closed the door behind him and used magic to ignite the small fireplace they had in their dorm due to the cold of the blizzard-like November day. They settled on opposite ends of his bed, Hermione sitting crossed legged, looking at her best friend who was seated near his pillows, looking down at his hands. After some time, he finally spoke.

"I've been watching him, Hermione." She felt her legs weaken and knew if she had been standing at the time she would have felt herself collapse. Does this mean that he's been watching _her,_ too? She had recently been finding herself by Draco's side on multiple occasions. But how much could he know? She let him speak more before jumping to conclusions. He looked at her, and when she hadn't given a response for some time, he sighed and carried on, "I don't know what it is, but he's been acting differently. Haven't you noticed _anything?_ He hasn't bugged you yet this year."

She wished she could have said no, but she knew that would only blow her cover quicker. She was supposed to be receptive. Harry knew that.

"Yeah, I mean, I guess." Hermione muttered, shrugging her shoulders.

"Isn't that at all weird?"

"Well, maybe he's grown a little, Harry. I'm actually a quite _pleased_ with it."

" _Grown?_ Hermione, this is _Malfoy_ we're talking about. I hardly think he's _grown._ "

Once again, Hermione found herself shrugging her shoulders. Harry took off his glasses to clean them on his robes, all the while looking at Hermione skeptically. His eyes really were a radiant shade of green.

"He's just been acting and _looking_ strange. He looks like a walking dead man." Hermione couldn't help but grimace. There's one thing she can agree with – Draco looked awful. She nodded her head and Harry returned his glasses to their rightful place. "I just… Keep an eye out for him, too, okay? Watch his moves. I don't know what it is, but I just have this _feeling_."

"Alright, Harry." She nodded, smiling at the boy and willing for him to change the topic. She went for the boy's hand, holding his still cold fingers in between her own, "So… How are you holding up?"

Harry's mouth formed into a tight line and that was enough of an answer for Hermione. She sighed.

"Why does it have to be so difficult?"

"I don't know, Hermione." He looked down at their hands and yawned, clearly tired from an action filled Saturday. And then he looked up at her with that same honest smile she had seen so many times before, "Whoever you choose would be lucky to have you."

The door burst open and in came Ron, looking between the two as if they had committed a crime together.

"What's this?" He said, glaring at his two best friends. Hermione raised her eyebrows in amusement at her freckled friend and Harry let go of her hands as not to provoke further inquiry. A scoff was heard coming from Hermione's mouth.

"Honestly, Ron, you can't possibly think that Harry and I-

"Yes, I bloody well can!" Ron stormed into the room, slamming the door behind him. His face was flushed and his mouth was formed in an angry pout. Harry sighed.

"Ron-

"Don't you _'Ron'_ me! I can tell what's been going on here, don't think I haven't!" His hands were tight fists at his side as he stalked towards them, "The sneaking around, meeting each other in the middle of the night-

"You can't be serious!"

"Hermione, of course I'm serious! You guys can't actually think that I haven't seen the way you act with each other! As if you're an old _married_ couple!" It was Harry's turn to pipe in.

"Ron, it's never been like that. We're friends." Harry looked to Hermione, both of them nodding their heads.

"No, _we're_ friends. We're _all_ supposed to be friends! And from what I can see, your definition of friends seems a lot more like-

"What the hell do you care, _Ron?_ " Hermione cut him off, unable to take more of his unintelligible accusations. He looked at her in astonishment. "Why do you care if I _was_ dating Harry? Or snogging Harry? Or being _with_ Harry in whatever way you think? Why does it matter to you who we decide to be with?" Harry coughed uncomfortably at her side, a light blush covering his cheeks.

"So, you _are!"_

"No, we're _not!_ We're only friends, but it shouldn't matter to you if it were otherwise! You're with Lavender, remember?"

That shut him up. His mouth closed and he breathed angrily, looking between the two. "So, you're not _together?_ "

"Go to hell, Ron!" And with that, Hermione stalked off, leaving the two to discuss matters further.

* * *

He had heard about Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder many years ago in passing while his father chatted with his mother in the Malfoy Manor living room. His father talked poorly about a man who was plagued by sleepless nights, panic attacks, and excessively intrusive thoughts all leading back to the torture he had to endure. Over time, it slowly diminished, but the man was simply inferior for allowing such events to disrupt his daily life so dramatically; at least, in his father's eyes.

But that's just simply who his father is, isn't it? A man who blocks himself from understanding what others cannot control. Draco had no hold on when his body would betray him. If a strong enough level of fear washed over him, in a similar fashion as it does when he is attending Death Eater meetings, he found his body would just react. Although, it didn't happen much, when he _did_ experience panic, it was quite hard to calm himself down – and when he _wasn't_ experiencing panic, he was constantly living on the edge. In his dreams, he was constantly fighting off those anxieties just to give himself at _most_ five hours of sleep. His father would have disowned him if he knew what Draco was going through just to fulfill a task assigned to him by the _great_ Dark Lord.

But that was just it. Suddenly, everything was stopping him from becoming his father. His body was reacting against what he had witnessed, knowing he would _never_ be the man his aunt Bellatrix and the rest of the Malfoy household had wanted him to be. Even just the concept of murdering Albus Dumbledore had left him mentally damaged. He wasn't meant to do the things others were demanding him to do – not if this was his reaction. Even just the word _mudblood_ had stung his mouth too many times.

And he had almost called _her_ that out loud.

He _had_ called her that, at least in his mind. If he wanted his mother to make it out alive, he needed to stay away from Hermione Granger. She was suddenly there, in his life, every corner he had turned. And she had helped him, and he was conflicted. But he had no room to be conflicted. He needed to fulfill his task and get his family to safety, but he couldn't do that if his ideals were being tampered with by a Gryffindor girl in frumpy robes. He needed to _focus._

But after that night, he couldn't. He couldn't focus on his food, he couldn't focus on his work, he couldn't focus on just about _anything_ because as soon as she had appeared in his life she had left. She was avoiding him, clearly in response to his aggressive behaviour against her after she had helped him. She was avoiding him and he didn't like it. He was supposed to like it.

He needed her gone, yet he found himself wanting her presence.

And she _was_ present, at least in his mind. She was in his dreams, stalking him as aggressively as she was avoiding him in reality. She was in his ears, his given name leaving her lips every moment he had seen her avoiding him in the halls. She was on _his_ green couch, she was holding _his_ books, and, for at least a moment, she was in _his_ shower, too.

It was a night he had chosen to spend in the boathouse. He was awake at four fifty-seven in the morning and needed to chase away his demons _quickly_ if he was going to get even two hours of sleep that night. And he was exhausted.

So, he stripped his clothes and got into the steaming hot shower. Once again, he felt his tense muscles relax. Maybe he _was_ going to get some sleep tonight.

Then he looked down at himself, a look of pain appearing on his face. He had attempted, but failed, to provoke himself using his go-to thoughts of Parkinson's naked body, but that image hadn't stirred anything in him since summer and he was becoming unsettled about his lack of sexuality at the age of sixteen. Then he remembered a conversation he had only two weeks ago.

Theo's words on how he had recently jerked off four times in one day rang through Draco's mind and quickly scared his hand into wrapping around himself. At that moment, he felt as though he would give anything to think of something that would tantalize his arousal. He wasn't functioning as a teenage boy should, and he was scared.

He scanned his brain for something, _anything_ to think about and suddenly, the same pair of eyes that had been haunting his dreams appeared. He had memorized them, at least after the most recent event. They weren't chocolate brown, he had realized. In the dark, yes, they had an almost milk-chocolatey look to them, but in that classroom, with the moon light hitting her face, he had realized her eyes were golden. They were golden.

He looked into her tear-filled eyes and something happened in him. He had trusted her. He felt safe in the comfort of her hands caressing his face. He felt safe holding the alarmingly cold ice that shocked his rigid body. He felt safe when the images had been chased away by her loving voice.

And suddenly, for the first time in almost five months, he felt himself release in that shower.

As much as he wanted to rejoice in his bodily functions, all this did was disturb him more. He didn't know what it meant. He didn't want it to mean anything. He didn't sleep at all that night.

* * *

A/N: Just letting you all know that **I have already written up to chapter ten!** If you want them posted faster, **you have to review!** We're already halfway there to fifty reviews – get me there and I will start posting twice a week!

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" _Why?_ " She challenged, once more. He could feel her hot breath on his face. Never had any person spoken to a Malfoy man in such a way. He didn't know why he allowed it.

" _Stay away from me, Granger."_ He warned a last time, opening his eyes to see her facing him, inches away from his own glare. His heart rate slowed. He felt like he was going to faint.

Love always, Elle – your author for this story.


	6. White-Throated Sparrow

**White-Throated Sparrow**

It was the last day of the first semester and Draco had yet to make any more advances against the Headmaster Dumbledore. And he was growing incredibly irritable. His irritability had nothing to do with his upcoming slaughter of the old coot, though. It was that _Granger_.

Her avoidance of him suddenly began to irritate the living _fuck_ out of him. Wasn't she supposed to be a Gryffindor? What happened to all of that Gryffindor courage? It's not as if she could simply turn those things on and off.

All of his years in Hogwarts, he had been mocked for being placed in the Slytherin house – the house solid in self-preservation and cunning behaviour. He had been judged by three quarters of the school as soon as he was placed into the house by that sodding Sorting Hat and right now, _he_ was being more courageous than a bloody Gryffindor. How bogus is _that_?

He threw the Percival Pratt book across the boathouse, hitting the bedroom door knob. He was just so _irritated_ and he didn't even know why _she_ took up so much of his time _._ He basically stalked her in the halls, turning every corner with his ears perked, on the lookout for the sloppy mess of brunette hair.

Granger's touch did something to him – he knew that. It assaulted him with electricity that pulsed from the tips of his fingers to his brain, disabling him. He wished he hadn't bitten his tongue that night when he shoved her away. He wished he could go back and scream at her for even interrupting his evening, for _causing_ that onslaught of anxiety. Maybe if he had screamed at her and assaulted her verbally, he wouldn't feel as though she could see through him as if he were a glass house. If he had screamed at her, maybe he wouldn't feel as though he betrayed his entire family.

He felt like he had committed a crime, to be quite frank. He wanted to blame her, and consciously he did, but at the back of his mind, he knew in the moment he actually had meant to thank her. She gave him that stupid piece of ice, she soothed his fears, and she seemed like the first person to look him in the eye with only true concern. She was concerned for _him_ – the guy who had wished for her untimely death on multiple occasions _._ He didn't mean to shove her in that moment; or maybe he did. He was unsure.

He just needed to get away from her intoxicating gaze in that moment. And now, he was trying all he could to gain it back. Despite her having all the power to see through him, he ached for her eyes to caress him with that look of concern again. The look of _honesty_.

Not many people were honest with Draco anymore. His father hid things from him, things that if he had just _told_ Draco, maybe he wouldn't be in Azkaban at this very moment. His best friends hid their true emotions and concerns about Draco from him, and it made him feel like a fragile little _bitch_. He even knew Snape continuously held information from him – Snape had admitted it to him, telling him that somethings are just not meant to be told. He couldn't stand it.

And yet, there she was. In a sea of crows, she was a white-throated sparrow. A tiny bird that had been subjected to his plucking of her feathers on many occasions, yet she allowed him to hold her. She trusted him not to kill her after he had sent a terrifying spell directly at her, intent on hurting her. She cleaned up his mess and soothed him with her beautiful songs, trusting that he wouldn't crush her fragile body in his calloused, unworthy hands.

And he just didn't know how to react. He wanted to hate her. _Really_ ; it would all just be so much more simple if he allowed himself to hate her. But he couldn't. He couldn't call her a mudblood. He couldn't hurt her anymore than he had already been commanded to. He could only push her away and hope she got the message that he wasn't worth saving. Not after the mark that tainted his arm – not after what he had become.

He let out a long breath, his scorching glare wandering back to the book that laid on the floor. He let his body follow his train of thought and picked up the book, bothered that he allowed such a temper tantrum to overtake him. His thumb rested in between random page numbers and he read the poetic passage.

 _Pure blood domestic, guaranteed, soft-mannered, musical in purr,  
The ribbon had declared the breed, gentility was in the fur._

 _Such feline culture in the gads, no anger ever arched her back -  
What distance since those velvet pads departed from the leopard's track!_

 _And when I mused how Time had thinned, the jungle strains within the cells,  
How human hands had disciplined those prowling optic parallels;_

 _I saw the generations pass along the reflex of a spring,  
A bird had rustled in the grass, the tab had caught it on the wing;_

 _Behind the leap so furtive-wild was such ignition in the gleam,  
I thought an Abyssinian child had cried out in the whitethroat's scream._

* * *

After completing an end-of-term essay that wasn't due until they had gotten back from their holiday break, Hermione reached into her bag to retrieve an invitation she had received not long ago in class, handed to her directly from Slughorn. She eyed the classy design, wondering whether or not she even wanted to _attend_ the event anymore.

Yes, she had agreed to McLaggen's proposal of attending the Slughorn Christmas Party together, but that was in retaliation against Ron's sudden interest in another girl. She was hurt and tired from a long day, and wanted to see _Ron_ hurt, too. But now, she wasn't hurt. She was over it.

More than anything, she wanted to avoid Malfoy.

But he hadn't attended the last three dinners, possibly avoiding her, too, after the panicked incident in the classroom. The chances of him attending the party tonight were slim, yet she couldn't help but feel acids eating away at her stomach from nerves.

Hermione sighed, closing up the books she had been using and tucking them away into her bag with her essay. She didn't want to look at him after he physically shoved her away from him. He had done a lot of things in the past under the category of abuse, but physical _assault_ was never a concern she had before. He had always stopped at some point.

She didn't know why it had bothered her so much. Maybe because she felt some sort of weird connection, looking into the bloodied boy's eyes and caring for him. She'd seen him bloodied too many times for her not to care about his safety. She was on high alert for him, waiting for another moment where she could heal his wounds and save him from whatever had it out for him, but she was avoiding his gazes. Turning away from his stares in the hall. Acting as though she hadn't noticed.

She felt this protectiveness over him that she associated with her natural empathy; her natural need as a Gryffindor to take action and help those who have fallen. She knew that if it were someone else, Theodore Nott or Pansy Parkinson, she would do the same for them, too. But she wondered if she would still be thinking about them constantly afterward like she had been with Draco.

She just had so many questions, willing themselves to spill out of her mouth and into Draco's ears. Why was he constantly putting himself in danger? What had happened to him to make him so nervous? What had happened to him for him to be half-naked and bloodied on the couch in the boathouse? _Who_ had happened to him for him to show up at that Slughorn dinner looking as though nothing happened?

She wanted it all explained, but due to the strains they had in their history, she couldn't even _ask._

She headed towards the Gryffindor tower after pulling her bag strap over her shoulder and leaving the library. It was the last day of school before the break, meaning celebrations would be occurring all over the school at each house. But she just wanted to dip herself into a hot bath and ease the aches in her back away.

She arrived at the common room not soon after leaving the library and made her way past the people, up the stairs and to an empty bathroom. She had heard that Slytherins get an on-suite bathroom to each bedroom, but Gryffindor girls never had that luxury, so she was pleased to see that the bathroom she had chosen was unoccupied. She locked the door behind her and let her book bag fall to the ground with a _bang_ and leaned her back against the closed bathroom door, looking at herself in the mirror. She _definitely_ needed a little soothing for tonight.

Her hair literally looked like an owl's nest. What was formerly curls not even three days before had turned into thick, frizzy folds. Her lips also had a slight chap to them from the winter cold and her constant nibbling of her lower pout. She sighed and stripped herself of her robes.

She went over to the bath and turned it on, slipping off her shoes and socks and tossing them over to where the rest of her clothes laid. She wasted no time and lowered herself into the bath, raptures of delight coursing through her body as the hot water touched her skin. She allowed herself to tense up before her body became used to the heat and another moan escaped her lips.

As she let the conditioner set in her hair, she looked at herself in the full length mirror positioned directly across from the bathtub. She noticed how much she had changed over the years. Her curls became less unruly, the freckles that were dusted on her nose faded due to sun exposure, and a now fading tan from summer could just barely be seen.

After finishing up, she wrapped a towel around herself and grabbed her bag, heading for her shared, but likely empty dormitory. A gasp was heard from the staircase and Hermione turned to see Seamus attempting to climb the slide.

"Hermione!" He yelled, reaching out for her hand and clearly unaware of her partial-nudity due to his drunken state, "I'm almost there! Quick – grab my hand!" She allowed a smirk to cross her features and laughed at the boy before she turned to her room. She heard a fading yell of _'no!'_ in the distance before closing her door to ready herself for the night.

Just as her now loose curls had been pinned back and she had finally felt presentable enough, a knock sounded at her door and Ginny came bounding into the room, a smile gracing her features.

"Hermione, you look absolutely stunning." She smiled breathlessly and took a seat on the bed, watching her. She must have sat much too close to Crookshanks as a disgruntled mewl was heard from the bed and she walked over to rest on the pillow.

"Thanks to you," Hermione replied, giving a bit of an awkward twirl in the dress Ginny had lent her. "And why are you so out of breath?"

"Dean and Seamus, the dim-witted duo." She laughed, "I really need to start getting ready with Dean. You know, Harry already left twenty minutes ago with Luna. You're late." A bundle of nerves settled in the pit of Hermione's stomach as she chewed at her bottom lip.

"I know. I'll get going." Hermione placed her wand that she used to dry herself off and prepare herself on her desk. Since the party was supposed to be a relaxing event of socializing and comfort-foods, guests had been asked to leave their wands at their dorms. Considering Ron's recent poisoning, she had speculated to herself that maybe he had become concerned for his own safety.

"Wait," Ginny said as she rushed into her small bag, pulling out a beautiful rose-gold necklace. She walked over to Hermione and placed it around her neck. "Now _that's_ got to bring attention to your cleavage."

Hermione gaped at her younger friend and scoffed, "Like I _want_ Cormac's eyes violating my body."

She gave herself a final look in the mirror. Honestly, she didn't even look like herself. The dress did something magical to her body that not even actual _magic_ had accomplished before. She felt incredible.

Ginny said her good-byes and Hermione left hurriedly, not wanting to be any later than she already was.

* * *

As soon as Malfoy saw her walk into the room and lock eyes with him, the world around him shattered. His glass house shattered, and he stood there naked, just for her soothing eyes to clothe him once more. She could see right through him – he was sure of it.

It wasn't even the way she looked that caused his vulnerability; though, it definitely tore off his final piece of decency. He had never felt his heart pump so hard looking at anything _ever._ Her hair, usually wild, was pinned down and fell in loose ringlets. Her dress – _Salazar, that dress_ – was classic, cinching in on her waist and drooping down in the front, allowing cleavage he hadn't even thought she _had_ to be seen. He looked up to her face and felt his knuckles become white at his sides from the tight fists he was making. He was embarrassed most of all by his reaction to her face.

She hadn't done anything at all. No makeup gracing her features, just _her._ That was the best part. And the worst part.

It _wasn't_ just the way she looked, though. It was the way she looked _at_ him – her big, wondering eyes focusing in on his face. She had allowed herself, for the time being and for the first time in a while, to just look at him. And it made her insides turn. He was here and she didn't know how she felt. She had tried on multiple occasions to help him, even keeping secrets from her _best friends_ for him, and all he could do was stare at her. Not even stare – _glare!_ He glared at her, looking as though he _hated her_ , with fire blazing in his eyes and all she wanted to do was turn around and march right out of the room that she just stepped into.

She felt an uncomfortable presence at her side and looked to see McLaggen's hand reaching out for her own. He grabbed it and brought it to his lips, pressing a torturous kiss on the back of her hand. She grimaced.

And so did Draco. He watched the event unfold and bit down on his inner cheeks hard enough to break the delicate skin and spill blood. She looked uncomfortable enough, but that did very little to soothe the seething _jealousy_ within him.

Jealous? Yes, he supposed he was jealous. Though he couldn't admit much to himself about his feelings for Granger, because, well, he truly didn't _know_ much about Granger to begin with, he _did_ know what jealousy felt like. He had felt jealous of Potter multiple times on the Quidditch field, jealous of his friends for not being forced into accepting the Dark Mark, and he had even felt jealous of _Granger_ for beating him in nearly every class. He knew what jealousy felt like, and right now, he was _bathing_ in it's green swamp.

McLaggen had a smirk on his face and told her something that made her turn three shades pinker than the usual natural blush that covered her cheeks. And Draco? He wanted to _slaughter_ him.

He could imagine it now, a sick fantasy of a mad man. Poor defenseless McLaggen, with nothing but his hideous smirk to try and save his dignity. But he would deserve it, Draco was sure. He had seen the way he looked at Granger at that first dinner, as though she were a pig he was readying for the butcher. He had made her feel uncomfortable then, and his unneeded presence was making her uncomfortable now.

"Draco," Blaise's voice snapped him out of his almost titillating vision of killing Cormac and he looked to his best friend, "What's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for one, your fists are almost turning blue." Draco quickly loosened his fists and brushed down his pants, unnerved that Blaise could have potentially read the situation at hand. Draco was being foolish.

"Just saw a sight I really didn't want to see." He replied truthfully and turned around, walking in the opposite direction of wherever _that_ _girl_ was.

"Listen, I understand that you hate her and all, but she shouldn't have _that_ much of a hold on you." Blaise reasoned while following his friend, unknowing to what Draco really meant – that he didn't want to see _McLaggen_ being friendly with her. But he was right. She really _shouldn't_ have that much of an impact on him, but just her presence had slammed his whole world to a halt.

He sucked at the bit of blood still left in his mouth and looked back to see her retreating form heading to the curtained windows while McLaggen had busied himself to the beverage table. He felt something between a chuckle and a scoff bubbling from within him and quickly looked away to not confuse Blaise any further if he had been watching.

And while he did that, Hermione did all she could to get the bloody hell away from that _pervert_ McLaggen. She was hiding behind the curtains, wondering what Malfoy was looking so damn angry about, when Harry popped his head in, scaring the life out of her.

" _Godric_ , Harry!" She said as she grabbed his arm and pulled him in further, so Cormac wouldn't him and figure out where she was. As soon as he was concealed, she hit him on the arm and pulled her hand back to her chest as if she were trying to stabilize her ever-pounding heart, "Were you planning on _killing_ me?"

"Hermione, if I didn't know better, I would have taken that as a _dis._ " He looked at her bewildered, rubbing his abused arm, "Am I really that unattractive?"

Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes, then turned her attention to look out for Cormac, "Did you see him?"

"Who?"

"McLaggen."

"No. Is that who you're hiding from?"

"Of course that's who I'm hiding from. He's disgusting, Harry." That comment brought on a chuckle from her best friend and she glowered at him.

"How is he disgusting?"

"He said I looked like a _siren_ , Harry. A _siren._ Is he mad?"

"You know; some women would take that as a compliment."

"Do you know what Sirens _do?_ They _lure men_ into the waters so they can _kill them_. He's basically calling me a jezebel!" Harry laughed and nodded, looking through the somewhat thin curtains to the party.

"Yes, I can see how the translations can get mixed up." Hermione nodded her head, still wandering about the _idiot_ in disbelief. She decided to let it go for the moment being and focus on her friend.

"So, why are you here?"

"To save you, of course. He's coming right now." Hermione needed no more warning as she slipped out from behind the curtain and practically ran to the other side of the room.

"Hey Hermione," she heard a voice right beside her ear and jumped in her skin for the second time that day. She looked up to see Blaise and his brilliant smile once again. She let out a sigh of relief.

That was, until she saw Draco not a foot away from him.

"Hi Blaise," she said uncomfortably and tried to tear her attention away from the blond headed boy. She looked at Blaise again and tried for normalcy, "Looking dapper as ever." It was only polite to compliment him on an occasion like today.

"You too, Hermione. You look wonderful." They carried conversation politely and at his side, Draco burned with jealousy once again. He wished it were that simple for him, too. Blaise could just _say her name_ like nothing mattered, like blood could never be an issue. He laughed with her in spite of their house differences and made her smile radiantly with his kind words. He never was one to care for blood, though. He was always soft. He had always stayed silent when Theo or Draco made snide comments about filthy ancestry. He never cared.

And maybe, that's how it _should_ be. Maybe Draco _shouldn't_ care about Granger's blood.

But he did. And he always would.

But she didn't _feel_ dirty when she looked at him the way she was doing right now. She didn't feel dirty when she placed that _damned_ ice cube in his hand. She actually had _cleaned_ him of his chaotic mental state for that time being.

Commotion was heard and Hermione snapped out of it, her attention being drawn elsewhere. Draco looked on, too, to see an ill-looking McLaggen being dragged out of the party by an upset, vomit-covered Snape. Harry walked toward Hermione, smiling ear to ear.

"What did you _do_ to him?" Hermione gaped, clearly addressing her best friend. Huh. If Potter had done that what Hermione assumed he had done, Draco might find himself appreciating the awkward scarhead a little more.

"Oh no," He started, the grin still lively on his face, "He did that all to himself. Didn't really stomach the dragon balls all that well." His grin quickly faded when his eyes turned to Draco, confusion replacing the happy vibes he had been giving off. He nodded at the two Slytherins, "Blaise. _Malfoy._ "

And that was her que to leave. Draco suddenly remembered why he wasn't too fond of Potter. She gave Blaise a farewell smile and, just before she turned to leave, she gave Draco a look and a tight smile. She nodded her head at him, and she left.

" _What_ was _that?_ " Blaise looked at Draco in disbelief, as though he had missed something rather large.

"What?"

"Hermione _hates you._ You hate her! You didn't even mock her _and_ she _nodded_ at you? She said goodbye!" His jaw went slack waiting for an answer from Draco. An answer that would never come, as Draco scanned his brain for something, _anything_ that he could say that would be plausible enough for his friend's ears. All he could think of was:

"You're looking far too into it."

"She said goodbye, in a friendly manner, to Draco bloody Malfoy, and you're saying I'm looking _too far into it?_ " Blaise's eyes tightened, examining his friend, "You hated her just ten minutes ago."

"Yeah, and I still do." Draco grumbled and grabbed his friend's arm, ducking away from an incoming Slughorn who was thankfully interrupted by Melinda Bobbin. That could have been close.

"Then why didn't you say anything?"

"Listen, despite popular belief, I don't always have to _mock_ the stupid little-

"Boys!" Clearly, Melinda had very little to say to Slughorn. Though, Draco actually felt relief that he didn't have to continue his train of thought just to put a strain on Blaise's persistent questions. At least Slughorn was good for something, "How's the party coming along?" And Blaise – polite, innocent Blaise – courteously accepted Slughorn's questions, giving thoughtful answers to each.

But just because Blaise was being polite, didn't mean Draco had to take part in it.

He ducked out of the way of Slughorn's gaze, who seemed to only really care about Blaise anyways, and went to go grab a beverage.

With a small glass of tonic in hand, for alcoholic beverage consumption by minors was prohibited on Hogwarts' grounds, Draco looked on at the party as it carried through the night, occasionally watching his secret keeper. The party had already started late and Draco watched as the multitude of people slowly began to dissipate into fewer numbers. There were parties going on in every house and he knew students could only take so much of a cocktail party before they wanted to become intoxicated with their friends.

Sure, alcoholic consumption was prohibited, but it's not like that rule had stopped many in the past.

Blaise had asked if he wanted to come to the Slytherin common room to partake in the games but Draco shook his head, allowing his friend to go on without him. He wanted to watch his little bird some more.

Not many were left when Cormac decided to show his face again, looking for his lost date. Draco watched as she, once again, tucked away behind him out of the door and into the hall. Cormac was instantly bombarded with questions from a somewhat drunk Slughorn and dragged to the other side of the room to Cormac's pure displeasure and Draco's delight.

Suddenly, a realization dawned upon Draco. This was his last chance to talk to the _stubborn girl_ who seemed to only run away from him. He needed to corner her. He needed to either berate her and belittle her, to re-establish his dominance, or he needed to apologize. Either way, he had to _stop_ this silent treatment. All it did was give her more power to toy with his emotions.

He headed straight to the door to do just that – he needed to bark at her or _something_. He needed to tell her to leave him alone for good or suffer the consequences, whatever they may be. He couldn't allow himself to start _feeling_ for the girl. He had a job to do that he was hardly any closer to accomplishing and he had even poisoned one of her friends in the process. If she got too close, who knows what could happen to her.

And that bugged him, too. Why does he all of a sudden _care_ if she were to die in a hole right now?

But when he pulled open that door and saw her looking down the hall, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. She had removed her heeled shoes and carried them in one hand, deciding where to run, when she turned to look at him. No, he didn't want to hurt her; no matter if the warmth of her eyes was betrayed by the glare she was bestowing upon him.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" She sighed and turned, clearly deciding on a path she wanted to take. He felt his chest deflate and followed the girl, suddenly remembering that he had a job to do.

"So, you're just going to walk away from me _again? Avoid me?_ " He snarled after her, anger rising within him. She scoffed.

" _Me_ walking away from _you?_ " She looked back at him from over her shoulder, shooting him a bitter look. It didn't suit her features. "As I remember it, you _shoved me away_ before storming out of that classroom." He quickly caught up to her.

"Hey!" She was just about to turn a corner before he grabbed her wrist, pulling her back, "You had no _fucking right_ to even be there in the first place - listening into my private conversations! If it were anyone else, I would've easily slaughtered them." She pulled her wrist from his grasp as if she had been burnt.

"And what are _you?_ Following me around the halls like _you're_ some stalker. What the hell is _that?_ "

Fuck, did she know how to rile him up. But he didn't know what to say. He just clenched his fist and closed his eyes, willing himself to hold his temper. She only continued, though.

"And why _didn't_ you just slaughter me, then, huh?" She pushed, walking closer to him as if she were challenging him. "I'm sure you've just about bloody _daydreamed_ about killing me in my sleep, so what happened, Malfoy?"

He cautioned himself once more. He didn't want to hurt her, he reminded himself. He just needed her to back off.

"Just _…_ " He started in a hiss, attempting to gain his self-control. His breathing had shallowed, and their proximity was close, contrasting against his thoughts of his need for her distance. " _Stay away from me."_

" _Why?_ " She challenged, once more. He could feel her hot breath on his face. Never had any person spoken to a Malfoy man in such a way. He didn't know why he allowed it.

" _Stay away from me, Granger."_ He warned a last time, opening his eyes to see her facing him, inches away from his own glare. His heart rate slowed. He felt like he was going to faint.

" _Why, Draco?"_

Time stopped. At the mention of his name, something snapped in him. And she was there to witness the very moment that he had snapped, too. Something flashed in his stormy grey eyes, and he looked down at her, an expression on his face as though he was about to curse her and hex her until she had no life left. Her hand grabbed at her dress, and her heart stopped when she realized she had left her wand at her dorm. Everyone had left their wands at their dorm.

If he was going to hurt her, he wasn't going to _crucio_ her. No, he was going to beat her to death with his hands.

But he didn't hurt her.

She felt her body slam against the wall behind her, but he didn't hurt her. She felt his hot breath on her face, but he didn't hurt her. She heard the words, _"you don't want to know"_ leave his mouth and caress her face, but he didn't hurt her.

She felt his lips capture her own, drinking away at her own sanity, pulling her in with the orange soda he was previously drinking still lingering on his mouth. Her body quickly tensed up against his, both of his hands on the sides of her face. Slowly, she felt her body ease into the kiss, being seduced by his clean yet musky scent.

She felt many things, but not once had she felt him hurting her.

No, she hurt him.

As soon as she felt his tongue on her lower lip, a shock ran through her body bringing her back to life, back to sanity, and her hand came flying at his face with a single, _hard_ slap. That same hand covered her own mouth, horrified at what just happened. Her whole body shook, enraged and terrified by the crime he had just commit. And she allowed it.

For a brief moment, she felt herself lost in his tender touch. She felt herself craving the release of what seemed to be a decade of tension between the two. She felt memories of ice, and promises, and Draco's tears, and poetry, and wonder, and _softness_ come crashing into her, and all she wanted to do was soothe the damaged boy's soul. All she wanted to do was kiss his face, over and over, willing for the pain to go away. She wanted to be the sliver of hope in his darkened vision.

But with memories of hope came the memories of pain. Years of his torment, years of his heartbreaking games, years of _hating_ one another, truly. Years of his ignorance, his pushing her away this year when all she wanted to do was _help him_ , all she wanted was to keep him _safe_ , no matter how insane it may sound.

And now, _this?_ She didn't know what to do or think. So, she didn't. She just waited.

And his reaction came rather quickly. As soon as she slapped him, his hands shot up to his face and something in his chest shattered.

Something. Whether or not he had a heart was rather irrelevant now, wasn't it? Whatever it was had just been lifted off into the sky by the little bird and dropped. And it didn't float to the ground, either.

No, it seemed as though the damage the white-throated sparrow had done was irreparable. He was broken.

He didn't know what to do.

So, he ran.

Again.

* * *

A/N: Just wanted to let readers know that the poems _are,_ in fact, important parts of the fiction and play a significant role. They're all written by E.J. Pratt, a Canadian poet that is said to be the inspiration for Percival Pratt. Sometimes, alterations take place to better suit my novel, but just as a heads up, the portions that _are_ written by him are, of course, his intellectual property, not mine. All copyrights for his poetry used belong to him. **Review! We're so close to the end of the month and if the reviews reach fifty, I'll start updating twice a week! And we're more than half-way there!**

NEXT CHAPTER PREVIEW:

He found himself back in that same, dark classroom, gripping his hair while terrifying images of tortured muggle-borns filled his vision. He could only think about Hermione.

If only she was there to heal him, once again, with her sweet songs of warmth and safety.

Love always, Elle – your author for this story.


	7. Green Ribbon

**Green Ribbon**

If Draco thought his summer was hell, he had clearly forgotten how it felt to be touched by the icy death claws of winter.

A week and a half had passed by since that last _haunting_ day of classes – since his lips had touched the very girl who would assault him not even a minute later.

He didn't know why he did it. After their encounter in the class room, after her words and touches had soothed him so, his vivid _nightmares_ about the girl only became more frequent. He started waking up with an uncomfortable rigid feeling in between his legs that not long before had hardly made appearances at _all_. He was truly worried for the toll his lack of release would take on him. He was scared about his body failing on him, and it seemed as if the only thought that could push his body forward to work was the thought of _her_. So, he took his moral sense out of the picture and continued to imagine her, sighing his name – his _first name_. Every morning he showered, and every morning he let his body lead his mind to thoughts about a girl he was madly _in hate_ with just to allow some sort of release.

He thought about the delicate little bird in so many ways and it _disgusted_ him to no end. Every single time he had finished he felt ashamed.

But he couldn't get the images out of his head.

In the moment, when he had kissed her so tenderly, he wasn't thinking about those images though. He didn't know what came over him. He truly _had_ the intentions of telling her to back off, if not for her own sake and safety, then for his. He couldn't continue thinking about her in the shower if he was going to slaughter her chances of life in just a few months. It had sickened him to the point that one morning, vomit filled the shower drain as his thoughts about pleasing her sexually turned into him being forced to torture her. He didn't want these thoughts to plague his conscience, especially if he were to go through with his duties. He needed her _gone._

In the moment, though, his dominance had subsided. He allowed her to bark at him like he had done to her so many times and she took advantage of it. He had asked Salazar, or the heavens, or _whatever_ for her to be angry at him before. He wanted her to be angry with him. He deserved it.

He deserved her punishment and her insulting behaviour, but something overcame him. He had asked her not to use his first name on multiple occasions. It always pissed him off, as if their relationship had changed just because she had seen him in a vulnerable position. But this time, he wasn't angry.

He didn't know what he was, truthfully. All he knew was that when that _word_ left her mouth it had stabbed him right through the chest and reminded him of _everything._ All the intimate, secluded moments together.

He was confused and lonely. But he knew that he had options if he was _simply_ confused and lonely. No, he wanted _her_ , specifically.

He wanted Granger.

And, though he knew she wasn't exactly fond of him, he also knew her warmth directed at him wasn't just because of the nature of the girl. She didn't just help him – something _snapped_ in her when she was caring for him in that torn apart classroom. She was crying, begging him to co-operate so she could save him. When he had finally opened his eyes and look at her face, she was a complete _mess_ , looking as though she were about to have an onslaught of anxiety, herself. She was shaking when he felt that ice being placed into his hands, nipping at his hot skin. She healed him, and after she had healed him, she had healed him some more. She couldn't just undo the damage she had done – no, she had to go above and beyond. How very like her. After the cube of ice had melted and just before the reality of it all dawned upon him, he allowed her to stare into his eyes. It was silent, and he had trusted her, and everything felt so _right_ , despite his mind telling him how wrong it all actually was.

And something happened when she was soothing him. She had grabbed his face; a most intimate gesture he had never received before. So intimate, it only felt right to return the favor when he had kissed her.

A kiss that could never be duplicated. Not if he truly wanted her safe.

And he did. In an ill, hateful twist of events, he wanted her safety more than most things he had ever wanted. Huh, Fortune _was_ a woman.

So, he decided now would be the perfect time to start his purge of Granger, the songbird who had decided to rest near territory that had been sprayed by a feline. But the white-throated sparrow still had a living chance if he chose to ignore his instincts.

To _kiss her._

He threw the thoughts out of his mind, knowing he would get nowhere if he continued to dwell in the memories of his mixed moment of utter insanity and pure euphoria. In the memories of her lips, kissing him back.

"Draco." Snape's voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he looked to his mentor who was just passing him in the hall. "My office, _now._ "

With a grunt of dissatisfaction, Malfoy followed the man to their destination. A cloud of annoyance fogged his thoughts, for it was late and he was hoping to turn into bed early, bored with the day's lack of events and his continuous thoughts about a certain bushy haired girl.

When the two had reached the professor's rather large and barren office, Snape immediately got into an almost fighting position, facing the boy. This didn't come as a surprise to Draco, considering he had been going through these routines with the dark-haired man nearly four times a week.

Snape was training him. Draco didn't know what for.

All he knew was that Snape was teaching him dark magic and countless spells – spells that weren't taught or accessible to students here at Hogwarts. Draco sat through session after session with different topics of discussion, ranging from healing to defense, to potions, to offense. Snape had even explained the spells he had used on Draco to heal him when he had been tortured by the Dark Snake himself. Draco knew exactly what tonight would consist of, and he knew he was just too emotionally exhausted to partake in it. But he had to push that exhaustion away for _so many_ reasons.

He didn't want Snape to see his thoughts. Actually, it terrified Draco to his _core_ to imagine Snape entering his private mind. If Snape's placement near the head of Voldemort's table suggested anything, Draco knew he couldn't trust the man. But, again, Draco had sat closely by Voldemort many times. He just didn't know.

He didn't know anything about Snape; the man had confused him too many times. But now, he had been teaching him incredible skills and had truly taken him on as a pupil. In just a week, Draco's knowledge of magic had nearly doubled. If Snape didn't want Draco's success, he clearly wouldn't have trained him so well. But success in the killing of Albus Dumbledore? Draco didn't know Snape's intentions.

"Occulumency: The magical defense of the mind against external penetration." Snape explained, wand in hand. "There are many ways of torture, Malfoy. One of the worst ways is through Legilimency." Draco stumbled to understand and hid his lack of knowledge with a roll of his eyes. Snape's gaze tightened, and he continued, "Close your eyes." Instantly, Draco cautioned himself.

"I don't-

" _Draco,_ you _must_ listen to me." Severus strode up to the boy and gripped his arms, "It is the Dark Lord's most favoured way of torture. Invading the mind of his victims, stripping them of their secrecy, and creating vision after vision, designed to torture the victim into madness. You must know how to stop this."

Something about Snape's words actually soothed Malfoy. Though, there is nothing more terrifying than torture through the mind (Draco knew _that_ much), it was almost as if Severus had silently confirmed that his intentions were _against_ Voldemort. If he was to teach Draco a skill in order to counter Voldemort's attacks, an attack that Voldemort had apparently so dearly loved, clearly these sessions were to prepare Draco to fight against the Snake-eyed monster.

Suddenly, Snape seemed a little more trustworthy.

Draco's lips tightened and he nodded his head, closing his eyes.

He felt a cold wave rush over his skull and instantly knew he was being encroached upon.

"Put up walls, Draco." The teacher started, pushing his pupil to start fighting back, "It will take all of your strength, but you must manipulate memories and thoughts to succeed."

Though Severus had entered Draco's thoughts, he hadn't made a move to allow Draco preparation and a moment to feel comfortable with this intrusion. He needed Draco to trust him if plans were to be set in motion.

Following orders, Draco pushed away at the intruder. Snape hardly budged.

Sighing, Severus decided he had to intrude on his pupil's thoughts for Draco to understand the severity of Legilimency. He needed to put effort in fighting back against infiltrators.

And Draco suddenly felt Severus' presence in every thought, every memory, every nightmare and every panic attack. Draco felt his body shake in anticipation of an oncoming attack. _This couldn't be happening._

His heart rate quickened and, adrenaline pumping through his veins, Draco pushed at Severus' occupancy, attempting to corner him away from untouched thoughts about Hermione. How could he have been so stupid to let Voldemort's right hand man into his mind? Draco always had a need for self-preservation, and Snape had the power to send Draco's whole family into the torturous hands of Voldemort. His trust in Snape had faltered in his mind, and he needed him out of there, _now._

He hid the thoughts of Granger behind him and as far away from the intruder as possible, fighting as hard as he could to protect his little bird. Clearly, Snape had caught on, for all other memories and thoughts were dropped and he forced himself towards the very memories Draco had been so keen on protecting. _Not there!_

Quickly, he found himself reliving the moment he had grabbed Hermione's wrist and pulled her back against the wall. He revisited the confusion in her eyes, the anger covering her features. His name was heard from her mouth and, as though the memory had been dunked under water, everything proceeded in slow-motion.

Emotions slowly drenched his body, and he saw himself press the girl against the wall and her breathing hitch. She didn't look as scared as she was a second ago. His mouth moved, whispering hotly against her ear, " _you don't want to know_ " then moving to the front of her face. He grabbed her cheeks and lifted her eyes to meet his. Her honey-brown eyes.

And then he covered her mouth with his own. Her soft lips received him, pressing against him almost as much as his lips pressed against hers. He tried his best not to be rough with her, afraid of hurting the tiny bird he had somehow caught in his sharp claws. One move and he could scratch her, but that's not what he wanted. She didn't deserve his anger or revenge. She deserved a thank you.

His tongue reached out to caress her lower lip and suddenly, time sped up again. A hand came flying at his face and his eyes snapped open to see her standing in front of him, eyes wide and _horrified_ , with her hand covering her mouth.

" _Not there!"_ As though he had felt the emotionally damaging slap again, in the present moment, barbaric anger raged out of Draco's shaking body and he felt himself mentally slam into his professor, forcing him out of his mind and snapping his eyes open. He looked at his professor in terror, his vision gone red. His professor was silent, unsure. Draco heaved, snarling at the older man. " _Don't you fucking come near me again!_ "

And that was the last time he saw the professor for the rest of the winter break. He ran out of that office, unstable breathing causing light-headedness. He needed to get _anywhere_ in order to sort out his emotions.

He found himself back in that same, dark classroom, gripping his hair while terrifying images of tortured muggle-borns filled his vision. He could only think about Hermione.

If only she was there to heal him, once again, with her sweet songs of warmth and safety.

-x-

Hermione remembered her childhood – particularly, Christmas traditions and songs that filled the house with cheer and love and joy. The holidays have always been an especially happy time of the year for Hermione.

They _were_. At least, before Draco.

Hermione had spent the first week of her Christmas break with her parents, knowing very well that things would just be awkward between her and Ron if she had gone to the Burrow to this special time of year. She wanted to be there, for Harry at the very least, but she hadn't seen her parents in quite sometime and wanted the loving touch of her mother to try and replace the memories of other loving touches she had received recently. She knew that would never happen though. Nothing could replace the memory of her childhood bully suddenly giving her a kiss so soothing, it could have put most to sleep.

She just didn't know what he was thinking.

But, after the relaxing week with her parents and the opening of presents on Christmas morning, she received an owl from Harry telling her that whatever Ron had with Lavender was on the rocks. He had hardly spoken of her over the holiday break, and when he _had_ , it was usually him nit-picking at her habits and behaviourisms. He had also disclosed to Harry that found her rather annoying, too.

Hermione couldn't even stifle the giggle she felt on her tongue when reading that sentence.

After a little more talk about Ron's lack of enthusiasm in opening Lavender's gift, Harry wrote her a Happy Christmas and asked if she would be willing to spend at least the last of the two-week holiday at the Burrow. He wrote that he missed her, and that things between him and Ginny were getting quite awkward. He needed someone to talk to and he actually missed her.

It had only been a week.

But Hermione needed no more convincing. She packed her bag, using a shrinking charm to fit all of her needs into one small pouch, and her parents said their goodbyes, happy they got to spend the most important week of the holiday break with their daughter.

So, here she was; standing outside the Burrow, nerves picking at her stomach.

She always had trouble lying to her two best friends. She knew, when promising to keep Draco's boathouse a secret, that she would have to lie to her best friends – she just didn't know how much _lying_ she would be forced to do.

Allowing herself to take a slow, deep breath, she knocked on the door. A few yells were heard from outside, calling others.

" _The door!"_

" _The door? Who could possibly be at our door?"_

" _I don't know, but somebody get the door!"_

A small chorus of heavy footfalls were heard, and the door swung open to reveal the twins, gleaming at Hermione.

"It's Hermione!" George called, both twins giving her a side-hug happily. More stomps were heard, and a flash of orange-red hair came flying at her.

"Ginny!" Hermione laughed as the girl smacked into her, hugging her with great force one would never expect out of such a small, red-headed girl. Ginny pulled away from her friend, looking at her with an eyebrow raised.

"Why'd you come?" She asked, though not in a tone that Hermione could ever take offence from. From the corner of her eye she saw a body, and looking past Ginny, she noticed the boy with a glowing smile on his face, ruffled hair, and his green eyes looking at her from under his glasses.

" _Harry._ " She nodded her head in his direction, smiling and stepping around Ginny to give her best friend a hug, "Harry actually sent me an owl, telling me he _missed_ me."

When Hermione turned around she noted a small look of concern on Ginny, that was quickly covered with a smile and a nod. Huh. The twins barked laughs at the two, shaking their heads.

"Almost as if you two are an old married couple! Can't even stand a week away from each other." Fred laughed and the two walked past them shaking their heads, giving Harry a pat on the back.

There was that look on Ginny again.

" _Hermione?_ "Ron's voice sounded from behind the two and they turned around to see a befuddled looking boy in sweatpants and a sweater, holding a half-eaten tart. Hermione smiled at him and walked over to give him a warm hug.

"Hey, Ron." She smiled up at the tall boy, pressing her face into his chest. When she pulled away, he still looked confused.

"What're you doing here?" He smiled at her softly, swallowing whatever he had in his mouth. He set the tart down on the kitchen table.

"Apparently," Ginny started, almost hurtfully, "Harry missed her too much to spend another week away from her." And with that, she walked past the group and up the stairs. Hermione shot a look at Harry who returned the very same look of concern, and he excused himself to follow wherever Ginny went.

Ron stiffened a little, and Hermione shook her head.

"You know it's not like that, Ron." She reassured, taking off her coat and setting it on the coat rack. Ron nodded as he leaned against the kitchen island, picking at his pastry worriedly, "It never has been, never will."

Something about those words must have soothed his concerns as he grabbed his tart once again and shoved the rest of it in his mouth.

Later on that evening, after Harry had calmed Ginny _somehow_ , the two best friends sat together in front of the fireplace, and Harry pulled out a gift from behind his back, wrapped in light-brown paper packaging with a green, silk ribbon.

Something about that ribbon made her feel sick to her stomach.

"Harry, you really shouldn't have." She shook her head, a smile on her face, "Though, you very well know by now that I have presents for everyone in that little bag."

He laughed, nodding his head, "Oh yeah, I _know._ " He pushed the gift in-between them, placing it in Hermione's hands. "Open it."

And she did, reminding herself to be extra careful with the silk ribbon.

In her hand, she held a book of poetry. She examined the interior to realize that it not only held some of the poetry world's best works, it also had inscriptions about each author who wrote them.

On that table of contents, she saw Percival Pratt's name. Yes, she _was_ going to be sick.

"I noticed you were carrying your _own_ book around with you for a while, on poetry, but one day you stopped carrying it around. I assumed you had to return it back to the library, so I thought, maybe…"

Harry trailed off and looked at his soulmate, embarrassed to think that this was a gift of poor quality for her. She shook her head at him as if reading his thoughts.

"It's beautiful, Harry." She smiled and stretched out from her seated position to give him a hug. "Thank you so much."

After chatting for some time about Ron's relationship and Ginny's somewhat hints at liking Harry, despite her being with Dean, Harry headed off to bed and Hermione was left with the green ribbon in hand, staring down at the soft fabric.

She truly didn't know what he was thinking at the time.

Yes, in the time leading up to that kiss, things between her and Draco had gotten interestingly intimate. She kept his secrets for him, something she could have never imagined doing just a few months prior. They had seen each other at their most vulnerable, Hermione was sure of it.

He'd seen her cry. For _him_. She had cried for him to open his eyes and accept her help and to calm down. She didn't want to see him hurt, like she had seen previously, and she was willing to give everything she had, including her pride, in order to heal him.

And she had seen _him_ cry. When she hit him with that horrendous spell, she had seen him sob, tangled in those vines, pain shooting out from the expressions on his face. She had seen him in the midst of a panic attack, struggling to regain control. How much more intimate could they get?

He had kissed her – _that's_ how much more intimate – and it was soft.

She thought he was literally going to murder her, but instead, he kissed her softly. It made her world fall apart all the same.

She stroked the green fabric, thinking about Draco and whether or not he cared for her in that sense. But she couldn't understand. She couldn't understand the tenderness of his lips in contrast to the words that had left that very same mouth so many times.

And he ran off. He ran so fast Hermione was left wondering whether or not that _kiss_ had actually happened. But it had, and she felt emotions swallowing her whole. Hand still clasped onto her mouth, where his lips had just caressed her ever so gently, she slid down the wall, numbed by the experience. Shock still present in her body.

She felt sorry for slapping him. She didn't usually slap boys who made moves on her, not that many had in the past. Viktor Krum was probably the only one who had attempted anything with her, and she accepted it happily. Though it was simply a good-bye peck, quick and sad, Viktor was loyal to her even after leaving Hogwarts – sending her letters every so often, asking how she was and telling her about his travels. He was a solid, fine young man who hardly had the courage to approach her at all. She was glad, though, that he finally did before departing. He was her first kiss, as pathetic as it may seem.

But she wasn't too keen on going home with him to Bulgaria, and that quickly ended any romantic interests there. They had remained friends, though, and she was happy with that.

But Draco was completely different. Now that she had someone to compare Krum to, she realized that his peck hardly even qualified as a kiss. Her stomach flipped, remembering Draco's hands on her face, his hot whispers, and his tongue licking at entry.

She tucked the green ribbon into her pocket and headed to Ginny's room where she usually slept. She was still awake when Hermione got there, looking pale. Ginny sat up in her bed, eyebrows dipped in concern.

"Are you okay?" She asked, scooting over and tapping the space beside her, allowing Hermione to get under the covers with her to talk. Hermione debated on how much she could reveal, feeling guilt in her gut for hiding so much.

"I…" Hermione started, unsure, "I don't know."

Ginny looked at her, stomach still bubbling in anticipation, "What's wrong?" she asked, soothingly. Hermione shrugged.

"I need to hate someone, but I can't." She said simply, causing only further confusion in her friend.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, there's this boy…" She started, looking at her nervous hands in her lap, "He kissed me, Gin." Ginny's face dropped.

"Oh."

Hermione turned to her friend, unsure of how to take that comment. When she saw the look on Ginny's face, she quickly understood.

" _No,_ Ginny! Not Harry." She said, shaking her head and grabbing her friend's hands. "Ginny, I would never do that to you. You have to know we're only platonic."

Ginny's eyes lifted to her friend's face, an eyebrow lifted.

"If not him, then who?"

Hermione felt her heart drop into her stomach. Indeed, who was a wonderful question; one that she couldn't answer. She shook her head.

"I… I can't exactly say." She started, "It's not my secret to tell." Ginny huffed, wanting to know. Hermione continued, "If it makes you feel any better, I slapped him right after."

Ginny's eyes shot to Hermione's, a giggle escaping her lips. "Was it Cormac?" Hermione shook her head, smiling. "Sorry, it would be a lovely thought – you slapping McLaggen. He deserves it."

"That he does." Hermione agreed, sighing as the girl who felt like a little sister to Hermione cuddled up next to her. They talked some more about potential victims of Hermione's slap, and with time passing, Ginny slowly began to doze off. Hermione sighed, tucking herself further into the bed, wishing for sleep to take over her. Her hand slid down to her pocket and removed the green ribbon once again, twirling it in between her fingers.

That night, she dreamed of silk linens, blond hair, and hot, sweet nothings in her ear.

-x-

A/N: Yes, Malfoy just quoted Machiavelli. Quite fitting, I thought. And don't you just love Harry and Hermione's relationship? So soft and caring, a big contrast from Draco. Don't worry – They truly _are_ just friends. As much as it would be a lovely idea, Harry and Hermione, I find something very settling and comforting about their platonic soul-mate…ness. Also, I love Dramione too much, if you haven't already figured that one out yet.

This is your last chance to get my reviews up to 50 and then have double the reading to do every week and throughout the summer. **If I get to fifty reviews, I post twice a week.** Right now I'm posting every Friday evening. But you have the power to change it! **R &R!**

NEXT CHAPTER PREVIEW:

Alarms went off in Hermione's head, instantly. She knew if this were merely months prior, she would have been throwing her arms around Ron's neck and savouring every moment his lips collided with hers, tasting everything he had to give. But Hermione stood still, lips unmoving, horrified that Ron had possibly thought this to be a good idea.

Love always, Elle – your author for this story.


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